


White Snow: Contention

by Vhetin1138



Series: White Snow: Year 2 [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Action/Adventure, Chaos in Keldabe, Crime Fighting, Expanded Universe, Mandalorian, Mandalorians - Freeform, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-10 17:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 160,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20855606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vhetin1138/pseuds/Vhetin1138
Summary: Mandalorian bounty hunter Cin Vhetin was held captive by the Empire for three months. But now he is free again and it's back to business as usual. A hunter's work is never done, even if that hunter has been missing and presumed dead.When a mysterious terrorist begins kidnapping Mandalorians and turning them into unwilling suicide bombers, the local police force asks Vhetin and Jay to help track down this murderer. But the partners are not the only ones asked to assist in the investigation: accompanying them is The Handmaiden, an Echani warrior with a deep-seated grudge against all Mandalorians, and Brianna Bellan, Vhetin's erstwhile ex-girlfriend. It is unclear just how efficiently this team will work together.But as the stakes grow higher and more battle-hardened Mandalorians are pitted against them, the team begins to realize that even they are not immune to the influence of this enigmatic bounty hunter...





	1. Mysterious Crimes

“_Do you know, admiral, who constitutes the greatest threat to the Mandalorian people?”_

“_The Empire?”_

“_Themselves.”_

\- Moff Torzha and Admiral Bostok

~~~~~~~~

**Keldabe, Mandalore**

Kardai Areur strode down the dirty, misshapen street, picking his way around piles of trash or ducking under laundry lines strung across the street. It was a warm summer's day and _Mando'ade_ all across the city were taking advantage of the weather to get essential work done. He'd heard that MandalMotors was having a special weapon expose within the week and Aramis at the _Oyu'baat_ was having a buy-a-beer-get-a-beer-free deal. Across the city, Mandos were working, talking, laughing, or fighting. But the overall atmosphere was one of calm and contentment.

In fact, it was the calm atmosphere of the city that had brought Kardai. He was in town to pick up new equipment and supplies for his imminent return to his homeworld of Concord Dawn. Normally, Keldabe was a little too... rowdy for his tastes. Between the Imperial garrison, _aruetii_ troublemakers, and frustrated Mandalorians, Kardai usually thought he was better off on his own so he wouldn't get caught up in something he wasn't prepared for. It was a belief that had served him well in the past.

Looking back, Keldabe had changed much since Kardai had first visited the city, so long ago, before the start of the Clone Wars. It was true that the Imperial presence hadn't done much to soothe the consciences of the local Mandos, but there was no denying that the Imp's desire for order had helped the city at least superficially. Now, sprinkled among the haphazardly-built apartment buildings and rickety tapcafs were new, slate-gray buildings that housed ammunition stores, Imperial recruitment offices, and local security checkpoints. Though their presence was an irritation for those who, like Kardai, often found themselves on the wrong side of Imperial law, it was nice to see some semblance of order in the city.

But the order was still only superficial. He'd heard _Mand'alor _Shysa had run into trouble in the past few months while dealing with Mandalorian violence against Imperial troops. The local HoloNews was rife with such reports; a stormtrooper squad was cornered by a lone Mando gunmen and mowed down, an officer was taken hostage by a group of Mandos planning to ransom him. It was growing more and more common these days. Kardai couldn't honestly say he blamed any of the Mando perpetrators; if the Imperials decided to increase their hold on Concord Dawn, he'd damn sure be mad about it. But even violence against other Mandos wasn't uncommon now. Only the other day, Kardai had seen a HoloNet report detailing an incident where a group of young warriors had ganged up on a Clone Wars veteran and beaten him to death. No provocation to justify the attack, no reason for such violence. The old man had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He shook his head. As bad as things might seem, he was still forced to admit that it was better than the days of his youth. Back during his days as a young man, during the rule of old _Mand'alor_ Mereel, he had seen for himself what most Mandalorians were like: ruthless, petty, violent. Many held true to the honorable beliefs of most modern _vode_, but others took the combat training of the Mandalorians and used it to better their own lot. And it wasn't as if that was a new development. His kin had been ruthless and barbaric stretching all the way back to the time of Mandalore the First.

Depressing? Of course. But under the guidance of _Mand'alor'e_ Mereel, Fett, and now Shysa, his brethren had set aside their savage history and embraced a path of honor. It was long past due.

He stepped into a fairly well-kept shop, nodding to the gray-haired man sweeping up. He stepped aside to allow the man to sweep dust out the open door, then waited for him to set the broom aside and take his place behind the counter.

“Can I help you, _vod_?” the storekeeper eventually asked.

Kardai nodded. “I placed an order for five ton of grassgrain seed? We spoke over comms yesterday.”

The storekeeper nodded. “I remember. Not much call for grassgrain this time of year. Stretched my stocks, don't you know.”

“It may be summer in Keldabe,” Kardai replied as the storekeeper pulled up an order manifest on the countertop holoterminal, “but it's planting season on Concord Dawn. I need that seed moved to my ship as soon as possible.”

“Easy, _vod_, easy,” the storekeeper chuckled. “You'll get it. I said you stretched my stores, not drained 'em.”

The man eyed Kardai's armor, bare pounded metal with no paint scheme other than random splashes of black, like oil stains on dull silver metal. “So... you're an engineer?”

“Foundry worker,” Kardai corrected.

“So what's the grassgrain for?”

“Locals gave me a shopping list when they found I was on my way to Keldabe,” he explained. “Since it's planting season, there's a lot we need.”

“Ah,” the storekeeper said. “Happy harvest to you, then. _K'oyacyi, vod_.”

Kardai nodded. “_K'oyacyi_.”

The storekeeper handed him a sheet of flimsiplast. “Turn that over to my delivery agent at the spaceport. He'll authorize the movement of the grassgrain to your ship.”

“_Vor'e_.”

The storekeeper inclined his head. “_Kih'parjai_.”

Kardai turned and moved to step through the door, but found another Mandalorian standing there. The Mando was wearing red and gold armor and had some kind of bulky neck guard. Kardai nodded to him, standing aside to allow him passage into the shop.

He should have sensed something wrong. There was something off about the Mando that was off, something that made Kardai uncomfortable. So part of him wasn't surprised when the Mando pulled out a blaster pistol and aimed it with a shaky, unsteady aim at the storekeeper.

“_Gun_!” Kardai shouted and dove toward the weapon. He grabbed the Mando's wrist and tried to wrestle the blaster from the man's grip. He was not as young as he once had been, however, and his opponent was a Mandalorian warrior still in his prime. The Mando quickly and easily brushed Kardai off, knocking him into a display of farming equipment. Kardai shook his head, bright points of light dancing in his vision. He reached up and touched his head, which had knocked hard against the durasteel display case, and felt his fingers come away sticky with blood.

The blaster-toting man took a staggering step into the shop, weapon once again shakily aiming at the storekeeper. The storekeeper raised his hands in a placating gesture as the man took another step toward him.

“Easy, _vod_,” the storekeeper said soothingly. “No reason to do anythin' hasty.”

“Y-you... are T-Talon Retur'ce?” the Mando with the gun gasped, sounding as if he was in pain. He doubled over, holding his helmeted head, then straightened. His aim was steadier now. “S-supplier for t-the Protectors?”

“Aye,” the storekeeper murmured. “That's me. What's... what's your name?”

“I... can't...” the man groaned, putting one hand to his helmet forehead. “If I don't kill, he'll...”

He then let out a pained yell and arched his back, spasms running through his body. He twitched and staggered, holding his head and screaming through his helmet vocoder. Kardai staggered to his feet and grabbed a rake he had crashed into, holding it like a bat. He was about to bring it down on the Mando's head when the man suddenly stopped screaming, whipped around, and fired at him. A bright green blaster bolt hit him in the leg, just above his shin plate. Kardai shouted in pain and fell, clutching his bleeding and burned leg.

“S-see?” the man cried, spinning back to the storekeeper, Retur'ce. “I-I'm not kidding!”

“Never thought you were, mate,” Retur'ce said, still holding his hands up. “Why don't you just put down the gun and tell me what's wrong?”

“I... I c-can't...”

“Why not?”

The man shook his helmeted head. “I... I have to kill you. He said so.”

“Who said so?”

Kardai struggled to his feet again as the man staggered and cried. “I can't tell you. He'll hurt me again!”

“Okay, okay,” Retur'ce said slowly. “Let's calm down, mate. Can you tell me about yourself? Will he hurt you if you tell me your name?”

“I... Matt,” the man gasped. “Mattlo Besuliik.”

“All right,” Retur'ce said, “Matt. That's a nice name. Now that we're gettin' chummy, why don't you tell me a little more? You got a family, Matt?”

He nodded, putting one hand to his helmet forehead. He twitched once, as if in pain, and gasped, “Wife... and baby daughter...”

“Any blood relatives?”

“A.... adopted brother...”

“Okay, good. What about your wife?” Retur'ce said. He caught Kardai's gaze and nodded. Kardai didn't need a translation: the storekeeper would talk the man down, giving Kardai a window to take him out. He grimaced as he fought to rise to his feet again, pain from his blaster wound slowing his progress.

“M-my wife?” Matt said slowly. The words came out slurred, as if he were drunk or half-asleep. “Name... her name is Lia.”

“_Mando'ad_?” Retur'ce inquired.

Matt shook his helmeted head with a groan. “_Auretii_.”

“_Mandokarla?_”

“Of course.”

Retur'ce nodded, as if considering that. Kardai grabbed a nearby digging spade and used it as a sort of cane to haul himself to his feet. His leg was throbbing painfully, but he could stand with some effort. He cursed when he knocked two rakes together, making a loud clattering sound in the process. Fortunately, Matt seemed to be solely focused on Retur'ce. His blaster hand was shaking, but he hadn't lowered the weapon yet.

“And what about your daughter?”

Matt chuckled, then grunted and held a hand to his head again. “She's... she's my pride an' joy. A month old and still don't have a name for her. I wanna name her Ruusan.”

Retur'ce nodded, his gaze softening with real sympathy now. “That's an old, hearty Mando name. Good name for a little girl.”

“I... I just wanna go home,” Matt gasped, staggering slightly. “Please... please let me go home.”

“I'll let you go home,” Retur'ce said. “Won't even call the cops. _Haat, ijaa, haa'it_.”

Kardai took a step closer, grasping his shovel tight. He limped closer, until he was only a step behind Matt. Retur'ce made a subtle cutting motion with his hand, signaling Kardai to stand down. He obviously thought he could talk the kid down.

“Why don't you put down the gun,” Retur'ce said, “and no one has to get hurt any more. We can get you to the enforcement office. They'll protect you and your family.”

“No,” the man sighed, almost sadly. “You can't protect me. Not from... _him_.”

He raised the pistol again, his aim this time as steady as a rock. He aimed the weapon squarely at Rerur'ce's head and placed his finger on the firing stud. Kardai knew he would only have a moment. Moving quicker than he had in a long time, he stepped up behind the Mando and prepared to slam his shovel across the armored man's head.

Matt seemed to have regained some of his combat capabilities, however. He whipped around and grabbed the shaft of the descending shovel, holding it tight with an iron grip. He cursed, then drove a knee into Kardai's stomach plate, making him double over and fall to his knees. A follow-up knee to the faceplate floored him.

_Shab..._ he thought, shaking his head. _I'm getting too old for this._

“You...” Matt sounded distraught as he spun back to Retur'ce. He looked as if he could barely stand now. “You _liar_! Y-you were just trying... to get me to let my guard down!”

“What'd you expect?” Retur'ce snapped, still holding his hands up. “You say you're going to kill me. You know what'll happen if you're caught. The Codex is clear: A Mando caught trying to kill another Mando is punished by exile or death. Do you want to be branded _Dar'manda_?”

Matt shook his head. “The... the Supercommando Codex... I-I don't...”

Retur'ce suddenly lowered his hands and barked, “Put down the damn gun, kid. Put down the gun or you'll never see Lia or Ruusan again! Think of your family!”

“_I am_!” Matt shouted. “_He_ knows where the are! H-he says he'll.... he'll _kill_ them if I don't do this...”

“Tell me where they are,” Retur'ce shouted back. “Let me _help_ you, vod! We can call the enforcement office, get them to put your family in protective custody!”

“_No!_” Matt roared, raising his pistol again. “No, it has to be this way. I'm sorry, _vod_, but I have to do this. I d-don't have a choice!”

Kardai moved almost without thinking. He reached down to his belt, grabbed his heavy combat knife from its sheath, then plunged it down through Matt's left boot. Blood immediately welled from the wound and Matt screamed, a high-pitched shriek of agony.

Kardai yanked the blade free and staggered to his feet, ready to follow up with a slash to the kid's blaster arm. The distraction proved worthwhile; as soon as Matt's back was turned, Retur'ce grabbed a pistol of his own from behind the counter, flipped the setting over to stun, and fired two shots into the man's back. Matt instantly collapsed, screaming as electrical surges coursed through his system. He twitched and crawled across the floor, hands shaking so badly he dropped his blaster. He broke down in spasms again, writhing on the ground, knocking over nearby displays as his legs kicked out rapidly. He began letting out pained little grunting sounds, fingers scrabbling at the floor. Then he suddenly flipped over and let out another long scream of agony, arching his back and clenching his hands into fists.

“What the hell?” Retur'ce said, stepping out from behind the counter. “He shouldn't be screaming that much. Not from a low-energy stun round.”

Matt continued to writhe and scream, clutching at his helmeted head, legs kicking out and knocking over nearby storage containers. He tried to pull himself up on a nearby counter, then slipped and crashed back to the floor. He began twitching sporadically now, no longer crawling away. His head whipped from side to side and he was letting out soft, gurgling sounds.

Kardai knelt next to Matt, ignoring the pain in his wounded leg, and pulled the twitching Mando's helmet off. The young man had a long, gaunt face, brown eyes, and black hair and beard. His eyes were rolled back in his head and he was frothing at the mouth, squirming and twitching erratically. He was muttering something through his frothing lips, but Kardai couldn't pick out individual words, _Mando'a_ or Basic.

“'Ey, _vod_,” Retur'ce said, kneeling on Matt's other side. He slapped the man's face. “Snap out of it. I didn't hit you that bad.”

When Matt didn't respond, the storekeeper slapped him harder. “Oi! You listenin' to me?”

Then Matt fell suddenly still, eyes still rolled back in his head. He let out a long sigh and didn't breathe again.

Retur'ce shook him, but Kardai had seen enough battles to know the difference between a man who was sleeping and a man who was dead. This man was definitely the latter. When Retur'ce moved to slap him again, Kardai caught his arm and said, “Give it up, _vod_. He's not going to be waking up.”

Retur'ce cursed and shook his head. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered.”I thought I could talk him down.”

“Not your fault,” Kardai said. “Some people just can't be reasoned with.”

He sighed and gently closed Matt's eyes, murmuring, “Rest, _vod_. I don't know who you are or what you were trying, but you were _Mando'ad. _You will be remembered.”

Then he looked over at Retur'ce and said, “What the hell happened to this kid?”


	2. Homecoming

**Freelance Transport _Void_, hyperspace tunnel en route to Mandalore system**

Vhetin sat cross-legged in the center of his quarters, helmet and flight suit top removed. He was inspecting the bandages that still covered his body, particularly a blood-soaked portion on his shoulder. He gingerly peeled away the gauze, grimacing as the dried blood caused it to stick to the wound. When he had succeeded in removing the bandage, he drew another length of medical bandage from a medkit lying open on the floor in front of him and began wrapping it around his shoulder.

He was still weak from his incarceration. Three months of malnutrition and disease didn't just disappear overnight, no matter how much bacta was pumped through his system. He didn't know how long it would take for him to be back up to speed, but he knew it would be quite some time.

Illness aside, he couldn't put into words how glad he was to be free. The Facility, as he and his fellow prisoners had called their prison, had been hell itself as far as he'd been concerned. He'd been subjected to horrible biological tests, his lungs punctured with hand-length needles and his body ravaged by a synthesized pneumonia virus, all so the Imperials could discover a way to meld his genetically-produced physical abilities with human physiology. Their tests had always ended in failure, however, their carrier virus creating nothing but twisted, psychotic abominations of life that infected anything they interacted with. Vhetin himself had been lucky, only receiving a severe case of pneumonia, fever, and frequent vomiting.

He scowled and shook his head. So much death... what kind of a person could look at such research and believe it was a good use of time, money, and personnel? Who could willingly consign so many innocents to a life of pain and torture?

With effort, he pushed such dark thoughts from his mind. It wasn't important now; the Facility had been destroyed during his escape, and all the Imperial scientists with it. Even if the Empire had contingency plans to safeguard the research, it would take them months to rebuild. He had time to relax, recuperate, and plan for such an eventuality.

A smile tugged at his lips as he remembered who he had to thank for his deliverance: Jay, his partner and best friend, who had apparently spent the entirety of the last three months searching for him. He had to admit, he was surprised at the devotion she had shown him. He had always known she was loyal, but to spend so long searching for him and never give up hope...

He finished tying the bandage around his shoulder, gingerly touching the skin around the gauze to make sure it was secure.

Yes, Jay had exceeded all his greatest expectations when he had first agreed to train her as a bounty hunter. She had assembled a special infiltration team to help her sneak into the research base where he had been held and gathered together everything from Echani to Trandoshans to a massive alien bounty hunter known as D'harhan, who sported a gigantic laser cannon where his head used to be. It was impressive, even by his strict standards.

He suddenly closed his eyes as a wave of nausea swept over him. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose, trying to bury the sensation. It worked, at least for the moment.

He was still sick from his pneumonia infection. One of the side-effects of this new virus was that his lungs repeatedly filled with some kind of bio-engineered fluid, viscous and black, that he had to regurgitate every few hours. It made breathing difficult and if anyone else was exposed to the fluid, they would be infected by the virus as well. It was dangerous and disgusting. Vhetin couldn't wait for the viral infection to wear off.

If it ever wore off.

He swallowed with difficulty, setting aside the medkit. He looked around his dark quarters – the lights had hurt his eyes, so he had kept them switched off – and slowly rose to his feet. He walked over to a set of armor lockers bolted into the bulkheads next to his cot and stared up into the faceplate of a Mandalorian battle suit. It was his old armor, painted matte black with lighter gray stripes. He smiled a little again and typed in a code to open the locker. With a hiss of escaping pressurized air, the transparisteel cover slid open.

Within minutes, he had pulled the armor from the locker and arranged it on his cot for easy access while he dressed. He was about to pull on his flight suit when the feeling of nausea returned, stronger this time. Once again, he tried to suppress it, to bury it down inside where it wouldn't effect him. This time, it didn't work.

His stomach churned and his chest tightened, sure signs that regurgitation was inevitable. He quickly looked around the room, his gaze falling on a waste basket set up next to his desk. He quickly grabbed it and sank to his knees, closing his eyes and attempting to regain control of his stomach.

There was a knock at his door. He grimaced as his stomach tightened dangerously. “Hold... hold on a second.”

“Cin?” came Jay's voice from the other side of the door. “Are you all right?”

He couldn't answer. In the next moment, his stomach lurched and he vomited black fluid into the waste basket. Jay must have heard him, because the next moment the door slid open and she took a concerned step inside. He quickly threw out a warning hand.

“Don't...” he gasped. “Stay back.”

She did, eyes wide and worried. “Are you all right?”

“Just give me a-” he spewed preservative fluid into the waste basket again. His chest was so tight, lungs constricting so powerfully, that his torso bandages were actually coming loose. He put a hand to his wounded chest and vomited another long stream of fluid.

Finally, the feeling of nausea began to abate. After he was finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of one hand and fell away from the waste basket, back hitting the edge of his cot. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to get his rolling stomach under control again. When he could speak, he opened his eyes and looked over at Jay, face shrouded in shadow.

“Sorry about that,” he panted.

“You can't help it,” she said, taking a step closer. “Are you okay now?”

He nodded, swallowing audibly. “I actually feel a little better after I do that. It's hard to be nauseous when you have nothing left to puke up.”

She nodded, still looking a little concerned. He continued, “Stay away from that basket. I'll send it out the airlock in a minute with a timed incendiary charge. Should be enough to burn up that virus.”

She nodded, then leaned against a bulkhead. “I'm sure you just need some rest. You'll be back to new in no time.”

Vhetin nodded, rubbing his sore throat. “I hope so. It would be a shame to be a free man but spend the rest of my life infected with this damn disease.”

“On the plus side,” she said, “if you're stuck in a hazmat suit the rest of your life, you'll never have to show anyone your face again.”

“Very funny Jay. You're just mad that the lights are off and you can't see me clearly now.”

Jay nodded with a smile, then looked over at the desk next to her. She noticed an activated holopic on the desktop and slowly picked it up. Glancing over at her, he saw she was holding a pic of Brianna. It was an image he remembered well: he had taken it himself. They had been walking one day, two or so years ago, on a sunny Market Day when she had found a new pistol for her armament collection. He had insisted on taking a pic of her with her treasured new weapon.

“I thought you said the Imperials destroyed your picture of Brianna?” Jay said, studying the picture with a slight smile.

“They destroyed my favorite,” he replied, pulling himself into a more comfortable sitting position. “I had others.”

“Did you miss her?”

He chuckled, then held his stomach and grimaced. “Nice to see your sense of curiosity is still intact, Jay.”

“I'm sorry,” she quickly said, setting down the picture and stepping away. “It's none of my business. I just thought, you know, since you two had broken up-”

He held up a hand. “It's okay. I was joking.”

He stared at the floor ahead of him and narrowed his eyes. “I... yes, I missed her. There were times I spent the entire day in my cell thinking about nothing but her. Her eyes, her smile, her laugh...”

“You still care about her,” she said, slowly setting aside the pic. “A lot.”

“Breakup or no,” he said, “five years together is a long time. Three months apart won't change how I feel.”

He hesitated, not sure he wanted to ask the question that next rose to his mind. “How... um, do you know how she's doing?”

She nodded. “I kept an eye on her while you were gone. Made sure she was doing okay.”

“And?”

She sighed. “When I told her about what happened on Mon Calamari... she took it hard, Cin. She took it really hard. It made me wonder whether I should have told her at all. After she heard the news she disappeared for over a week, never leaving her apartment. Mia went to check on her, but she wouldn't unlock her apartment door to let her in.”

She shrugged. “Even after she started showing up in public again, she was... different. Quieter, a little less outgoing. I think she blamed herself for what happened.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I think she believed that leaving you was what caused you to be captured. That she weakened you emotionally, made it easier for the Tracker to get under your skin.”

“That's ridiculous,” he said. “I mean, yeah she hurt me. But she was never a factor in my decision to fight the Tracker. I decided to fight to _protect _her.”

She shrugged. “That's just what I think.”

“And what about now?”

She shook her head. “I'm sorry, Cin, but I haven't had contact with her recently. All I know is nothing but rumors and hearsay. I'm not really willing to fill your head with stuff that might not be true.”

He stared at her for a few moments, then nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“Look on the bright side,” she said, “Mia commed before we jumped to hyperspace and said Brianna agreed to meet us at the spaceport. She'll be waiting for you.”

He nodded. That news had been at the forefront of his mind since he'd heard. The idea that she would be right there when he stepped down the landing ramp after so long apart... it was the best news he'd heard in a long time.

But he had forced himself to calm himself when he had first heard the news. For all he knew, she would just want to remain friends. Just because he'd been held captive for the past three months didn't automatically mean they were back together again.

He eventually pulled himself to his feet and said, “In any case, thanks for keeping an eye on her. It means a lot to me.”

Jay nodded. “It was the least I could do.”

He nodded as he set about replacing his armor. He pulled his flight suit over his head, slipped into his armored flak vest, then pulled on his black facemask. He then settled his Mandalorian battle helmet over his head, his suit sealing with a hiss of pressurizing air. His amber-hued HUD activated in a flash of light, then began feeding him information about his surroundings: the chemical balance of the filtered air, a status report of the engine coolant conduits thrumming away beneath the floor, even the speed of Jay's heartbeat and respiration.

He saw she was smiling at him and he tipped his head curiously. “What?”

She shook her head, still smiling. “It's just good to see you in that armor again. Somehow it seems like you're actually back when you walk around in your kit.”

“Understandable,” he said, grabbing his jetpack from where it was leaning against the wall. He settled it over his shoulders, waiting until the magnetic clamps set into his back plate locked the pack to his armor. Once done, he grabbed his lightsaber pike and clipped it to the side of the pack. “You've never actually seen me fully without my helmet. My armor is the only thing you recognize of me. Without it, I'm just some random guy.”

“We've been through a lot together,” she pointed out, “I think that makes you more than _just some random guy_, even when you don't have your helmet on.”

Vhetin nodded and stepped through the door, heading for the cargo bay. He had to check up on stocks, see what supplies Jay had brought for the mission.

“Speaking of which...” Jay began hesitantly. “When do you think you might let me finally see your face? You know, without your mask on?”

He paused, frowning behind his helmet faceplate. “I... I don't know, really. Why?”

“Just... curiosity,” she said. “I mean, it feels kind of weird that we're such good friends, but I don't even know what you look like. Don't tell me it isn't weird to you.”

“No,” he admitted. “Now that you mention it...”

“Why do you keep it on in the first place?”

“Rame has always said it's because I'm shy,” Vhetin replied. “To be honest, I really don't know. I just feel more comfortable with it on.”

“I would have thought it was because you wanted anonymity during hunting contracts. You were able to sneak around that restaurant back on Mon Cal that one time because no one knew who you really were.”

“I guess that's part of it,” he said with a shrug. “Like I said, I mostly just don't feel all that comfortable without it.”

“If that's how you feel,” she said, sounding slightly disappointed. “Anyway, we should be arriving in the Mandalore system before long. You'll be back before you know it.”

He keyed open the door to the cargo bay, the largest room on the ship. On hunting contracts, Vhetin needed every edge he could get, so he didn't skimp out on the supplies he brought. He was pleased to find that Jay seemed to have picked that up as well: the entire room was stacked with cargo crates, shipping containers, and weapon lockers. Vhetin saw some new crates mixed in with his old stocks, but nothing too out of the ordinary. The food ration had been mostly untouched, as had the weapon lockers. Jay had obviously relied on her own ammunition to carry her through her missions. Of the new crates, Vhetin saw minor equipment upgrades, scanning kits, and several crates of heavy weapons and ammunition.

But Vhetin and Jay weren't the only ones in the cramped cargo bay. The Handmaiden was also present, near one corner. The Echani had her white hood pulled back, letting her shoulder-length white hair fall loose, and her collapsible quarterstaff was in her hands. She was spinning the weapon in her hands, lashing out at empty air with powerful, carefully-measured strikes. Jay folded her arms and leaned against a bulkhead, watching her curiously. Vhetin followed suit.

The Handmaiden moved with a smooth grace that contradicted the violence of her motions. Watching her, Vhetin was reminded more of a dancer than a seasoned soldier. She spun and flipped, her staff carving arcs through the air, her hands moving too quickly to follow. She fell to her knees, whipping her staff over her head before driving it down into the floor, using the momentum of the blow to carry her to her feet again. She then made her way towards what looked like one of Vhetin's old wooden armor mannequins.

She began bashing away at the dummy with blows from her staff, kicks, even punches. Her attacks grew faster and faster, until Vhetin could barely see her movements; she was little more than a white blur against the slate-gray bulkheads that surrounded her. Eventually there was a loud _snap_ and the mannequin's head was knocked off by the sheer force of her attack. The wooden head bounced across the floor as the Handmaiden took a slow step back, retracting the durasteel shafts of her weapon. She was panting hard, gloved hands clenched into fists. She slowly closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath, sheathing her quarterstaff and bowing her head for a moment. After a few calming breaths, she looked up at her surroundings, as if only now realizing there were others in the room. When she saw Vhetin and Jay standing against the wall, she narrowed her blue eyes.

“I was unaware I had spectators,” she said, pulling her hood back over her head and throwing her face into partial shadow.

“We were just admiring your combat skills,” Jay said. “Right Cin?”

Vhetin said nothing. Though the Echani's display was indeed impressive, he wasn't about to give her such a compliment. Echani and Mandalorians hadn't historically gotten along well, and in the short time he'd known her, the Handmaiden had reminded him why. The Echani warrior was arrogant, condescending, and had one of the biggest egos he'd ever seen. If it were up to him, they would have ditched the white-clad woman at the nearest Imperial space station and left her there.

But Jay wasn't about to let it slide. She nudged Vhetin's arm hard and said, “_Right_ Cin?”

He glared at her, then grunted, “Right. I guess.”

Handmaiden clipped her staff back to her black leather belt, then folded her arms. “Was there something in particular you needed?”

“I was just coming to check up on my supplies,” Vhetin said, stepping toward the cargo crates. “What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be resting like the others?”

“An Echani is trained to always be prepared,” she explained. “The end of one battle does not guarantee there will not be another.”

“That's a little pessimistic, wouldn't you say?” Vhetin asked, prying the lid off one of the equipment upgrades. Inside, he saw an advanced signal scrambler, military-grade and very powerful, designed to shut down enemy scanners and jam outgoing communications.

He frowned and looked up at Jay. “This is an Imperial prototype. Where did you get it?”

She shrugged. “We raided an Imperial supply depot that was housing some of the instruments your Whiteclaw scientists were using. After we dealt with the Imperials, we decided it would be a shame to let all that equipment go to waste.”

He shook his head. “You do realize we'll all be shot if Imperials decide to search the ship and they found this?”

“All the more reason to get it installed quickly,” Jay said with a grin.

He re-sealed the crate and said, “So just how many Imperial bases did you attack trying to find me?”

Jay glanced at the Handmaiden, who shrugged and turned away, once again returning to her combat practice. Jay eventually looked back at Vhetin and said, “I don't know, three? Four? Enough to get the Imperials interested in just what I was looking for.”

Vhetin was about to say more when the cargo bay door slid open and he heard large, lumbering footsteps approaching. He looked over at the door in time to see D'harhan's massive frame as the alien squeezed himself through the door. Surprisingly, Rame was following close behind.

“All I'm saying,” Rame was muttering, “is that you were shot almost thirty times in the chest. I don't know just what kind of alien you are, but most people have important organs stored in that region. At least let me examine you so we don't have to worry about you keeling over on us.”

“_UNNECESSARY_,” D'harhan's voice boomed from his synthetic voice box. His chest was indeed still bleeding profusely, but the alien seemed to pay his wounds no mind. “_MY KIND ARE EXTREMELY RESILIENT. I WILL HEAL IN DUE TIME.”_

Rame threw his hands up in defeat and shook his head. “I don't believe it. This guy's more stubborn than you are, Cin.”

“Maybe he hates needles as much as I do,” Vhetin suggested with a shrug. He slid the cargo crate back into its place with the others, then turned to watch D'harhan as the alien stomped up to Jay.

He was certainly a spectacle. Over three meters of hulking muscle, he had dark, leathery green skin with large patches of reflective black armor plating surgically fastened onto his body. A complex mechanical tail was also implanted into his spine and a sharp, barbed clamp sprouted from the end of the metallic tail, allowing D'harhan to grasp the ground. He used this function of his tail to transform the prosthetic into a support strut while he fired his primary weapon: a tremendous light-mass blaster cannon that was surgically implanted into his neck. What had happened to his head, Vhetin could only guess.

He didn't particularly enjoy the idea of a nine-foot walking death machine waltzing around his ship, so he had taken to keeping a cautious eye on the alien whenever and wherever possible. During the trip, however, the massive bounty hunter had done little apart from sit quietly in the engine room, cannon powered down. If Vhetin didn't know better, he'd think D'harhan had been sleeping.

Jay seemed much more at ease with the hulking bounty hunter. She smiled at him as he approached and said, “What can I do for you, D?”

“_WE ARE NEARING THE MANDALORE SYSTEM_,” D'harhan rumbled. “_WE SHOULD BE TRANSFERRING TO REALSPACE SOON_. _I WOULD ADVISE RETURNING TO THE COCKPIT TO PREPARE._”

Jay nodded and thanked him, stepping toward the door. Vhetin followed her, eager to be home again. D'harhan, meanwhile, turned his synthetic gaze on the Handmaiden's combat practice with the sensors mounted on his head-cannon. The Echani noticed his scrutiny and stopped, lowering her quarterstaff.

“What?” she said defensively. “Do you need something?”

D'harhan shrugged, the support girders and coolant tubes set about his neck creaking and groaning. A quick blast of coolant steam erupted from his cannon's housing. “_IT CONTINUES TO ASTOUND ME THAT YOU ARE SUCH A PROFICIENT WARRIOR WHEN YOU CHOOSE TO WIELD SUCH... PUNY WEAPONRY._”

“I would rather be skilled in combat and wield a puny weapon,” the Handmaiden replied evenly, “than trust all my battlefield skills to a single oversized explosive device.”

“_YOUR NARROW-MINDEDNESS IS WHY YOU SHALL NEVER BE ABLE TO CRIPPLE AN IMPERIAL WALKER WITH A SINGLE SHOT._”

“And your brutishness is why you shall never understand the term _stealth_,” the Handmaiden shot back, “nor implement it in combat. Now leave me to my practices.”

D'harhan's cannon-head lowered with a buzz of hydraulics. “_AS YOU WISH._”

The massive alien then turned and lumbered after Vhetin and Jay, heading for the door. As they passed, Jay glanced at Rame and said, “What about you? Any medical concerns I should be aware of?”

“I've patched up everyone to the best of my ability,” the medic reported as they walked. They paused a moment once outside to allow D'harhan to struggle through the door again. Once they were sure he could extricate himself from the cargo bay without getting stuck, the three set off toward the cockpit.

“How's Ti'ica holding up?” Jay asked quietly. “Losing Trassk back in that place was obviously hard on her.”

Rame nodded. “It was. But she's doing better now. She's glad that he went down fighting, at least. And she says we managed to kill at least a hundred Imperials in that explosion. She thinks everyone's even now.”

“Good. Keep an eye on her, will you?”

“Sure thing,” Rame replied with a lazy salute. He parted ways with them at the door to the tiny, cramped medical bay. “I'll be here if you need me. Cin, don't forget that you're going to need another immuno-booster. After being infected with your pneumonia disease for so long, your immune system is weak. And the surgery to get those plugs out of your body didn't do you any favors.”

“I won't forget,” Vhetin replied tersely. “I wouldn't want to be killed by a simple cold. That would just be embarrassing.”

“Remember that sentiment the next time you complain that you hate needles,” the medic said, then disappeared inside.

Jay stopped at the entrance to Vhetin's quarters. She gestured to the door and said, “You go ahead and get some sleep. I'll wake you when we're ready to descend.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I want to be there when-”

“It will take time to authorize the ship for landing in Keldabe,” she said. “You know that. Get some rest and I'll wake you up when we're ready to land.”

“I don't...” he paused, then sighed and nodded. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. He was still exhausted from their escape and the last thing he wanted was to be tired when he met Brianna again. So he thanked her and let her continue alone to the cockpit. He keyed open the door of his quarters. He cautiously removed his armor, careful not to irritate his wounds. Once done, he rested himself slowly on his cot, letting out a sigh of relief. He closed his eyes and within minutes, he was asleep.

~~~~~~~~

“You aren't making things any easier for yourself, Primary.”

Vhetin shook his head, pulling against his restraints. The electro-shock binders crackled and sent jolts of pain up his arms, but he ignored them. He kept his gaze fixed on the tabletop in front of him, refusing to meet the doctor's gaze.

“L-let me go,” he gasped. “I'm n-not telling you anything.”

“Unfortunate.”

Vhetin screamed as the power to his binders was increased and electricity coursed through his system. Sparks flew through the darkness, casting twisted, monstrous shadows across the walls.

The torture ebbed after a few moments and his captor leaned forward. “Tell us what we want to know, Primary. How do you use your abilities? Your speed, strength, psychometric imaging; all you have to do is give us the information and you can return to your cell.”

“_I don't know!_” Vhetin shouted, breathing hard. “I... I can just _do_ these things! You think its some kind of kriffing _magic trick_?”

Another surge of electricity, another wave of pain. When the pain finally faded, Vhetin slumped forward in his chair, struggling to draw breath into his fluid-filled lungs. He let out a wheezing cough, blood dripping from his lips.

“Very well,” his captor finally said after several long, silent moments. “Then perhaps you can explain how to cure the molecular degeneration your genetic material causes in other subjects.”

Vhetin let out a weak laugh and looked up at the doctor through streaming eyes. “Do I look like a geneticist? Even if I did know, why would I help you fix your disease? This degeneration you keep talking about is the only reason you haven't used it yet.”

The doctor narrowed his eyes. “Yes, we figured you would reason along similar lines.”

He tapped a button on his datapad and the electro-shock restraints sputtered out. With a loud _click_, they snapped open, freeing him. He slowly sat up in the chair, rubbing his raw, bleeding wrists. He narrowed his eyes at the doctor and said, “What is this?”

The doctor shrugged. “My superiors merely wish to show you exactly what your defiance is accomplishing. If you would please step forward.”

He gestured to the shadowy figure of a large window built into the wall behind him. Vhetin cautiously stood, cautious not to irritate the needle-plugs set into his chest, arms, and legs. He limped toward the mirror while the doctor stepped into the shadows, out of sight.

Vhetin stepped closer to the reflective surface of the window. He glanced in the direction the doctor had vanished. What was going on?

The lights suddenly flashed on, flooding the room with white-hot light. Vhetin cursed and shielded his eyes. When his eyes eventually adjusted to the new illumination, he squinted to see through a window in front of him. Through the window, he could see several medical beds lined in a row. The restraints looked as if they had been ripped out of their housing and there were deep red blood splatters on each bed.

Vhetin narrowed his eyes. It would take great strength to rip out of those medical beds; even he wasn't strong enough to tear his way loose. Yet here were five beds, all of them looking as if they had been attacked by something.

He was about to look back at the doctor when something hit the window. He cursed and fell back, scrambling away from the window on all fours.

Staring at him was a monstrous being with gnashing teeth, stringy brown hair, and open sores along its arms and face. As Vhetin watched, the single figure was joined by several others, all clawing at the window. They were dressed in the tattered, bloodstained clothing, letting out pained groans and gurgly screams as they tried to bash their way through the transparisteel.

He heard footsteps behind him and looked up to find the doctor standing next to him. He scrambled to his feet and pointed to the window. “What the hell are those?”

“The product of your resistance,” the doctor said, eying the monsters calmly. “The consequences.”

He looked over at Vhetin with distaste and said, “Why don't you take a closer look? I believe you will find something familiar.”

Vhetin glared at the doctor, then took a cautious step toward the window, staring at the first creature that had jumped at him. It snarled at him, bashing its fists against the window, drooling and growling at him. At first he didn't see anything besides a monster. Then his blood ran cold as he met the creature's gaze and he instantly recognized the soft brown eyes that stared balefully out at him.

He put a hand against the window, thinking, _no... no, it can't be true._

“_Brianna_?” he whispered.

The creature let out a screeching roar and slammed its head against the window, leaving a bloody splatter mark against the transparent surface. Vhetin took a horrified step back, beginning to now recognize the others. Rame was to Brianna's left, eyes flashing, slamming his fists against the window. Jay was on the right, gnashing her teeth and raking her bloody fingernails down the window's surface. Venku was in the room as well, as was Mia. They had all been transformed into monsters, all of them covered in blood and oozing sores.

Vhetin closed his eyes and took another step away, fighting the urge to vomit. “No... no, it can't be possible. You're lying!”

Someone suddenly grabbed him by the shoulder and slammed him back against the window, only inches from the drooling, roaring creatures that had once been his friends and family.

“_Look at them_!” a new voice shouted. “Look at what you've done! This is _your_ fault!”

“No,” he groaned, “no, I was trying to keep them safe!”

The being holding him against the window suddenly flipped him around and grabbed him tightly around the throat. Vhetin gasped and grabbed at the being's wrist, then stopped dead when he saw just who was attacking him now.

It was himself.

Another Vhetin, this one dressed from head to toe in his black-gray Mandalorian armor, was pinning him by the throat against the window. He was grasping a lit lightsaber pike in one hand, the blade of which hummed violently.

“You're weak,” this new Vhetin growled, staring coldly at him through his T-visored helmet. “Pathetic. You cause all of this, then snivel like a child when you're faced with the consequences of your actions.”

“K-kriff... you,” Vhetin gasped, futilely trying to pull New Vhetin's arm from his throat. “If I'm... responsible for this, then... so are you. We're the same!”

“_No_!” New Vhetin shouted. He slammed Vhetin against the window again, hard enough to crack the surface. Vhetin could hear the sounds of the monsters that had been his friends growling and moaning in anticipation.

“No!” New Vhetin shouted again. “I am everything that's _good_ about us! All our strength! You're nothing but our weaknesses!”

“I... am everything that makes us human,” Vhetin managed to choke out. “Everything that makes us a _person_.”

New Vhetin stared at him, unmoving, for a long time. He didn't release his tight grip on Vhetin's throat, but he thought New Vhetin was considering letting him go. Then New Vhetin cocked his helmeted head slightly and said, “Who in the hell made you think I want that?”

“What?” Vhetin managed to say. Then New Vhetin drove his pike forward, skewering him through the chest with the glowing energy blade. Vhetin's eyes went wide as fire washed through his chest and he let out a strangled, choking gasp.

“Vader and the Imperials trying to kill us?” New Vhetin snarled, slowly pulling the blade free. “That was _your_ fault for growing a _conscience_!”

He punctuated _conscience_ by stabbing forward again. Vhetin let out another choked scream, struggling as he felt the glowing blue lightsaber blade of the pike carve through his chest again.

“Brianna leaving us? That was _you_!” Another stab.

“The Tracker hunting us? _You again!_” Stab.

Vhetin slumped, feeling slipping from his extremities. He felt blood leaking from his lips, could smell his own cauterized flesh as New Vhetin drew the pike away again. New Vhetin now leaned close, until the faceplate of his helmet almost touched Vhetin's nose.

“And Whiteclaw?” New Vhetin whispered. “All the pain they wrought? All the horrors they inflicted on the innocent? There's no one to blame but _you_!”

With that, he pulled Vhetin forward, then slammed him against the window again. He felt the clear surface of the window give way and he toppled back into the room beyond in a shower of shattered transparisteel. He landed hard, skidding across the smooth floor until his back hit the far wall of the room.

He tried to struggle to his feet, but he saw the infected Brianna towering over him. He tried to crawl away, but she threw herself on him, tearing at his face and arms with her fingernails. He tried to shove her away, but she sank her teeth deep into his shoulder. He screamed and pushed her away, but monster-Jay now threw herself at him, latching onto his forearm with sharp teeth.

As one, they descended on him, scratching or biting wherever they could. The last thing Vhetin saw was the image of himself staring unsympathetically through the shattered window.


	3. Old Wounds and New Faces

Vhetin sat bolt-upright in his cot, breath coming in sharp, short gasps, the sheets soaked with cold sweat. He looked around the room, frantically looking for a weapon. When he didn't feel teeth or claws tearing at his skin, however, he slowly paused, then relaxed. He slumped back against his cot, his head hitting the pillow hard.

A dream. Nothing but a dream.

He rubbed his clammy forehead, afraid to close his eyes again lest the nightmare suck him back into its clutches. He rubbed his eyes and let out a long sigh, listening to his heartbeat slowly begin to slow to a more calm, steady pace. After a few moments, he looked over at the chronometer on his desk: he'd only been asleep for twenty minutes.

He sighed again and sat up, wincing and holding his sore chest. This wasn't the first time he'd experienced this particular nightmare, nor would it be the last. It always unfolded the same way: the interrogation from the faceless doctor, the attack by his armored doppelganger, and finally his death at the hands of his friends, who had been infected by the Whiteclaw disease.

He slowly swung his legs over the edge of the cot and stood, walking over to the armor locker that held his armor. He stared up into the menacing T-visored helmet for a few moments before tapping in the code to unseal the locker and allow him access. Once done, he pulled his helmet down and cradled it between his hands.

He slowly returned to his cot and sat down, staring into the tinted T-visor with vision still blurry from sleep. He shook his head and tapped at the visor with one fingertip, murmuring, “Why do you hate me so much?”

Of course, the helmet provided no answer. So Vhetin just sighed and set it aside, returning to the locker and pulling the rest of his armor on. He was halfway through replacing his flak vest when his quarters' personal intercom crackled and Jay's voice said, “Cin, we're beginning our final descent to Keldabe. Get your armored butt up here, sleepyhead.”

He blinked, then struggled into the rest of his armor at record speed. He didn't even have his helmet on fully when he hit the opening stud for the door and stepped into the hallway. He quickly pulled his bucket over his head and booted up the HUD as he all but ran for the cockpit. When the door slid open, he saw they had transferred back to realspace; the front viewport showed the infinite black of space, sprinkled with bright pinpoints of distant stars.

Jay looked over as he entered, a smile tugging at her lips. “Dressed and in here in forty-five seconds? That has to be a new record, Cin.”

“I don't want to miss this,” Vhetin said, sliding gingerly into the copilot's seat. “I've been gone too long.”

Jay tapped a few buttons, then reached up and typed in a descent vector to the navicomputer. She smiled at him and said,”Welcome home, Cin.”

The ship pivoted, the motion easily felt through the vibrating deck beneath his feet. As _Void_ turned, Vhetin saw the endless expanse of twinkling stars give way to the view of an all-too-familiar blue-green world that he had been waiting months to see again.

“_Manda'yaim_,” he whispered, almost despite himself.

The planet was one of the most beautiful sights he'd ever seen. A mixture of dark greens, deep blues, and swaths of pale brown across the equator, the planet was the largest in the system. A small hurricane was forming near the coast of one equatorial continent, and there was a large storm over the north-eastern quadrant of the planet. The poles were sprinkled with white, the snows creeping further and further south as the fall season approached.

Starships of every make and model darted in and out of _Void_'s field of vision: fighters, freighters, capital ships. Vhetin saw mercenary gunships, MandalMotors-issue cargo transports, and TIE fighters, all mixed together in a dizzying collection of spacecraft.

It was a few long minutes before _Void_ began tunneling down into the atmosphere, the space just outside the ship glowing red-hot with entry burn. It was a rough ride for a few moments, the deck kicking violently beneath Vhetin's boots and the hull creaking dangerously. Then the ship broke free of the atmosphere and coasted down over a seemingly endless stretch of forest. Vhetin's heart began to pound as they entered familiar territory: he could easily pick out the two towering peaks of the _T'ad Mand'alor'e_ mountains that flanked the entrance to the Kelita River Valley as their ship roared past.

The forest abruptly gave way to a large river valley, dark green grasslands, and the multi-colored square patches of farming fields. He found himself craning his neck to take it all in, like a child at an exciting vacation spot. He tried to force himself to relax, but could not contain his excitement as he caught a glimpse of a sprawling cityscape in the distance, near the far end of the valley.

Within minutes, they were soaring in over the borders of Keldabe, Mandalore's capital city. Vhetin looked down to see the familiar urban sprawl of his home, with buildings constructed everywhere and anywhere there was room. The streets were crooked and uneven; one would be hard-pressed to find a straight street in the entire city. Even from their vantage point, Vhetin could see the streets crowded with people, the city bustling with life. This view vanished when _Void_ turned in mid-air and headed for the north-eastern sector of the city, toward a large air traffic control tower.

“Keldabe Ground Control,” Jay began transmitting, “this is freelance transport _Void_, requesting clearance to land and offload supplies.”

“One moment... alright, clearance granted, _Void_,” the GC officer replied. “Any luck out there?”

Jay glanced at Vhetin with a grin and said, “The best kind.”

“Ah! Congrats, _vod'ika_! Put 'im on the line, would you?”

“Sure thing. Stand by.”

Vhetin leaned forward and said, “Morning, Ground Control. I take it Jay's been through your airspace quite a bit, huh?”

“More times than I can count,” the GC officer laughed. “Good to have you back, _vod_. Dunno what we'd do without one of our premier _beroyas_ gracing us with his presence every other week. I mean, without you bums, it's just a lotta people tellin' us where they're goin' and what they're doin'. You _beroyas_ are the only ones who add a little mystery to the lives of us simple GC officers with all your _can't-tell-you-what's-goin'-on osik_.”

Vhetin grinned despite himself and said, “Well you'd better get ready. If it's mystery you want, I have it in spades.”

“_Oya, vod_!” the GC officer chuckled. “Welcome home. Kick those dirty Imps in the balls a few times when you next see 'em, will you? For me?”

“Sure thing.”

“_Vor'e_. Ground Control out.”

_Void _coasted in towards a circular landing bay near the edge of the spaceport complex. Jay worked the ship's controls with the ease and skill of a seasoned pilot, letting the freighter glide smoothly down through the air. Vhetin's heart was pounding as the ship drew closer and closer to the landing bay. Now that they were closer, he could see a small party waiting for them, maybe five or six people. From this distance, he couldn't see if Brianna was among them.

_Calm down,_ he thought to himself. _She'll be there._

He folded his arms and sat back in his chair, tapping one foot impatiently. Jay glanced over at him as she brought the ship down. “Nervous?”

He let out a long breath he didn't know he was holding. “I've been gone for three months. That's a long time.”

She let out a quick laugh. “Relax, Cin. It's not like anyone's forgotten you. Aramis kept a booth open for you in the _Oyu'baat_ just in case you showed up again. And Ume'o's been complaining that without your outlandish equipment requests, the MandalMotors R-and-D department has been slacking off. You've been missed, big guy.”

He nodded, still tapping his foot. Jay brought the ship in for final landing preparations, reaching up and hitting a few buttons along the ceiling-mounted control panel. The landing struts disengaged and slid down from their housing. Vhetin could feel the vibrations of the motion through the bulkheads beneath his feet.

“And with that....” Jay muttered to herself, easing the ship down. The landing struts hit the surface of the docking bay with a loud _thud_ that could easily be heard within the ship. The cockpit shook a little as _Void_'s weight dampeners redistributed balance along the ship to keep it upright, then with a long, slow hiss, the ship stilled and didn't move again. Jay looked over at him and grinned. “Welcome home.”

Instantly, Vhetin was out of his chair and heading for the door. Jay seemed to understand his excitement, because she hit the button to disengage the ship's landing ramp.

He hurried through the central hall, almost running in his haste. He saw the landing ramp disengage and lower in front of him, flooding the interior of the ship with warm, white light. He felt a smile tug at his helmeted face as he stepped out into the warm summer air.

Surprisingly, Venku was the first one to greet him. As Vhetin stepped outside, the younger Mando was already striding up the landing ramp. He grinned when he saw Vhetin's black-gray armor and held out a hand. Vhetin slowly grasped his forearm in a traditional Mando handshake.

“It's good to see you again, _vod,_” the young Mando said. “You had us all worried.”

“It's been too long, Venku,” Vhetin said, still thinking about Brianna. He couldn't see her from his vantage point, but that didn't necessarily mean she wasn't there.

Venku shook his head and said, “I don't know what Jay's told you, but everybody thought you were dead.”

“So I've heard. I bet it'll be a great night for _Oyu'baat _gossip when I walk through the door again.”

Venku laughed. “I'll take that bet.”

Vhetin nodded, smiling a little. “How have the past few months treated you?

“Okay,” he said with a shrug. “_Ba'buir _grounded me after I got back from Mon Cal. Haven't been out of the bastion before today. You?”

Vhetin shook his head as Jay stepped past them, heading down into the spaceport. “Oh, you know... incarceration, experimental biological augmentation, medically-induced pneumonia. I've been better.”

Venku grimaced sympathetically. “Yeah, Jay filled me in on the details. Sounded like a rough ride.”

_You have no idea_, he thought. But instead, he said, “So how's everything been on the home front?”

“It's been a busy three months,” Venku said, folding his arms. “Quite a bit has happened. Umeo's nerfs had calves, _Mand'alor_ Shysa got to speak in front of the Imperial Senate about increased monetary aid to Mandalore. He was almost arrested afterward for punching the Twi'lek Senator in the mouth after the _aruetii_ called us a quote-unquote _bunch of bucket-heads_.”

Vhetin shook his head. “Good old Shysa, always looking out for us.”

“Even from the inside of a prison cell,” Venku said, nodding. “Oh, which reminds me, Janada probably wants to talk to you.”

“She knows I'm back already?”

“Not exactly. She's been... out of contact for about a week. And considering the stuff she's been getting up to lately, she'll probably need some assistance. Sooner rather than later.”

He raised an eyebrow and Vhetin sighed and said, “I know where to find her.”

“Good,” the Mando said. He turned back to the spaceport, leaning against _Void_'s bulkhead. He watched Jay's progress across the spaceport floor. A smile tugged at his lips as he said, “I knew from the way Jay's voice sounded when she commed that she'd found you. She hasn't been this happy since you disappeared.”

“She was that worried about me?”

“Hell yeah. She barely focused on anything besides finding you.”

Vhetin's eyebrows shot up when he saw Jay walk straight up to a gold-armored Mandalorian, throw her arms around his neck, and give him a passionate kiss on the lips. He watched the two for a few moments, then looked to Venku for elaboration.

“Oh yeah,” the young man said. “I guess that's one of the things that's changed since you've left.”

“Who is he?” Vhetin asked.

“Denton Dral,” Venku explained. “Local police officer. They met when Jay was being hunted by Suirotnoc and those Mando traditionalists. Been dating ever since, apparently.”

“You sound upset.”

Venku shrugged, his shoulder pads creaking slightly. “I thought Jay and I had something special. Apparently I was wrong.”

“I'm sorry,” Vhetin said. Then his gaze fell on a particular woman who was just stepping through the door of the spaceport. His heart almost stopped when he saw her standing in the doorway and she stopped in her tracks, staring at him.

A little numbly, he stepped past Venku and murmured, “Excuse me.”

He broke into a jog, heading for the spaceport floor. She made straight for him as well, her face stretching into a beautiful smile Vhetin hadn't seen in three months. As soon as they were close enough, she threw her arms around his shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug. They stayed that way for a long time, Vhetin holding onto her with all the desperation he'd felt over the past months. She buried her face in his neck and let out a long sigh.

“I've missed you, Brianna,” he murmured, closing his eyes and savoring the feel of their embrace. He'd waited so long to see her again, had dreamed about her every night for the past three months. His heart was hammering in his chest, but he didn't think he'd ever felt happier.

She let out a quiet laugh and held him, if possible, even tighter than before. “Fierfek,” she sighed. He had never been more glad to hear her soft, smooth Coruscanti accent. “It's so good to see you. I thought you were _dead_.”

He shook his head and pulled back, holding her at arms length and studying her. He looked exactly like he'd remembered her in his dreams: long, light brown hair, kind brown eyes, high cheekbones, strong chin... he had remembered every detail over the course of his incarceration. She was wearing a simple, sleeveless work shirt and baggy work pants. Her hair was tied back in a functional braid and she was wearing a pair of heavy Mandalorian boots. She looked good, if possible even more beautiful than he remembered.

Then he hugged her again and let out a long, exhausted breath. “I've missed you so much, Bri.”

He moved to give her a gentle headbutt, an armored Mandalorian's kiss, but she pulled away before he could. He frowned and rubbed her shoulder reassuringly. “What's wrong?”

She avoided his gaze, keeping her eyes on her boots as she stepped back, out of his reach. She bit her lip and whispered, “Don't... don't do that.”

“What? Is something wrong?”

A tall man in black-red battle armor approached them, stepping through the door Brianna hand just emerged from. Vhetin glanced at him, the bounty hunter side of him taking in every detail he could see.

He was about Vhetin's age and a few inches taller, with broad shoulders and heavily muscled arms. He had a chiseled, square face with a slightly crooked nose and an old scar over his right eye. His long black hair hung down a little past his ears, evidence that he had not recently worn a helmet; _Mando'ade, _both male and female, tied up long hair when wearing their buckets. His armor was painted polished black with blood red trim and his flight suit was cut just beneath the shoulder pads to display his muscular arms.

Vhetin narrowed his eyes at this newcomer, wondering why he was intruding. Couldn't he see this was a private conversation? But, to his confusion, the man walked straight up to them and said, “Aren't you going to introduce us, _Brian'ika_?”

Vhetin's gaze snapped to her. _Brian'ika_? This stranger was using the affectionate version of her name? What the hell did that mean?

She continued to avoid his gaze as she said, “Galaar, this is Cin Vhetin. He's an old friend.”

Vhetin stared at her, uncomprehending. Old friend? He had been her boyfriend for more than five years, long enough for people to ask when they were going to get married. That made him more than just an _old friend_.

“Cin,” Brianna said quietly, sounding as if she wanted to be anywhere else, “this is Galaar Ash'amur, my, um... my-”

“Her boyfriend,” the tall man supplied with a grin, holding out a hand. “Call me Snake.”

Vhetin stared at the man's outstretched hand for a few moments, long enough to make the man's grin falter. Then he clasped Snake's forearm and shook it once, tersely. Once done, he looked back to Brianna and said, “Can I talk to you for a minute? In private?”

Snake raised his hands and said, “I get it. You two have a lot of catching up to do. I'll be waiting in the spaceport for you to finish. Don't take too long, _Brian'ika_.”

Vhetin watched him leave, a scowl darkening his helmeted face. Then he turned to Brianna and gestured for her to follow him to a more private area of the spaceport. She followed, still looking at her boots, unwilling to meet his helmeted gaze. As soon as he was convinced they were out of earshot of the others, he rounded on her.

“_Boyfriend_? Are you kriffing _kidding_ me?”

“Cin,” she began, “I didn't want him to come along. Let me explain-”

“The entire time I've been gone, you've been seeing someone else?”

“It's not like that,” she said desperately. “I just-”

“Son of a bitch,” he said, turning his back to her and shaking his head. He couldn't believe it. She was his oldest friend, a woman he trusted with his life, a woman he loved with all his heart. And she had simply moved on after he had been captured?

He turned to her again. “Five years, Brianna. _Five fierfeking years_ we're together and you find someone new when I disappear for _three months_?”

“I thought you were _dead_!” she snapped, anger creeping into her voice now. “I thought you had died when that damned spaceport exploded!”

“Your confidence in my survival skills leaves quite a bit to be desired,” he growled, folding his arms and glaring at her.

“I wanted you to come back,” she said quietly. “I... damn it, Cin, I _prayed_ that you would come back. But when you didn't show up and Jay's search didn't so much as find evidence that the Imperials had even recovered your body...”

She shrugged helplessly. “I moved on. It wasn't easy, but I had to. I couldn't keep drowning in grief.”

“I was only gone _three months_.”

“It might as well have been three years!” she cried. “I-I couldn't go on without you! So I decided that I had to let you go so your memory wouldn't drag me down with you!”

He cursed and shook his head. “First you break up with me just when I need you the most, then you give up on me when I'm not back home within your timetable. I thought you were better than that, Bri.”

“Don't pretend like you don't feel the same-”

His arms flashed out and he grabbed her shoulders. “I _never_ felt that way! The thought of you has been the only good thing left in my life after I was captured! I dreamed about you every night, thought about all the times we shared whenever those damn Imperials were running their tests! You kept me _alive_ in there, Brianna! _You_ got me through this!”

She shrugged his hands away and took a step back. She looked torn between feeling distraught at their current predicament and angry at his desire to pick up where they had left off. She eventually shook her head and said, “I'm sorry you feel that way, Cin. But you and I were over long before I ever broke up with you. You need to wake up and realize that.”

She turned to leave, then hesitated. Her voice took on a softer, more somber tone.

“I mourned for you,” she murmured. “Ask Rame or Mia or Jay. It was days before I was even able to get out of bed. I had to find something to keep myself from simply dying of despair. And Galaar was there for me. I'm... I'm sorry, Cin.”

He watched her incredulously as she walked away, disappearing into the spaceport. He continued staring at the spot she had occupied until he heard footsteps behind him. He shook his head and blinked, as if just waking up from a horrible nightmare, and slowly turned to find Jay and the gold-armored Mandalorian. He had his arm slung around her shoulders and she had a dying smile on her face.

“Oh,” she said quietly, smile fading completely. “You found out about them, huh?”

He said nothing.

“Well,” she continued hesitantly, “I wanted to introduce you... but if now's not a good time...”

“Now is fine,” he said, his voice too tense and angry for anyone present to believe him.

“Right,” she said, glancing at the gold-armored Mando next to her. “Um, well, I want you to meet Denton Dral. My boyfriend? He's been waiting a long time to meet you.”

The man extricated his arm from around Jay's shoulders and held it out for Vhetin to shake. He did so, a little numbly, his mind was still reeling from Brianna's revelation and nothing else was really registering with him.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, still staring at the spaceport doors through his HUD's 360-degree wraparound vision.

“You too,” Denton said, putting his arm back around Jay's shoulders. “_Ja'ika's_ told me a lot about you. She's been downright obsessed with tracking you down the past few months. Made her a nightmare to be around.”

She grinned and nudged him in the ribs. “Take that back.”

He raised his chin stubbornly. “I stand by my words. Make me.”

“Anyway,” she said, turning her attention back to Vhetin, “Denton gave me all kinds of information that made my job finding you a lot easier. He's the one who arrested the Tracker.”

Vhetin nodded. “Good work. The Tracker deserved to be thrown in jail.”

Denton grinned. “Don't I know it. From all Jay told me of your guys' work on Mon Cal, he made Suirotnoc look like an Ewok.”

“He did,” Vhetin echoed. “He almost killed both of us.”

He stepped past them. “It was good to meet you, Denton. Excuse me.”

Then he made his way across the spaceport, avoiding the gazes of everyone present, and headed back to _Void_. He strode up the landing ramp, no doubt looking as if nothing was wrong from the outside. Internally, however, his heart was in turmoil.

Brianna had a _boyfriend_? It didn't make sense. She'd always been there for him. _Always_.

He shook his head and shut down his HUD, finding the amber-colored holographic readout distracting. No, it couldn't be possible. She'd _always_ _been there_. She was the first person he'd seen when he'd woken after the accident that had stolen his memory, all those years ago. They had grown up together, trained together, hunted together. He had known her before Rame, before Janada, before Jay, before _anyone_. How could she just move on after so long?

He shook his head again and half-staggered into the cargo bay, desperate to be alone so he could think over this. He put a hand to his helmet forehead, feeling his head throb behind its protective shield of _beskar._

How could she? How _could she_? Didn't she realize how much she _meant_ to him? How much the memory of her had helped him while he'd been imprisoned? He would have died without her, he knew. How could she just find someone new, after all they had been through?

“You do not look pleased to be home,” a quiet voice said.

He spun, pistol drawn and aiming squarely at the white-clad form of the Handmaiden, who was sitting cross-legged on a cargo crate and staring at him with her uncomfortably pale blue eyes. She had her hood pulled back and her shoulder-length white hair was stirred slightly in the breeze wafting in from the lowered exit ramp.

“Why are you still here?” he growled. “I would have thought you'd have wanted to jump ship and get away from us dirty Mandos as soon as possible.”

She tipped her head to the side, her cold gaze holding his. “I am not entirely finished with my stay on Mandalore. Besides, I enjoy the cargo bay. It is much colder than the rest of the ship. It reminds me of my home.”

“That's great,” he said, slowly holstering his weapon. “But this is my ship, not yours. Please leave.”

She shook her head. “I do not think so. I have no desire to face the crowd come to welcome you back. Until they disperse, I will remain here.”

Vhetin let out a low snarl of irritation that was silenced behind his helmet, then spun and stormed out of the cargo bay, slamming the door shut behind him as he went. Even after he'd reached the blissful, deserted silence of the cockpit and sealed the door behind him, his heart still pounded with rage. He half-collapsed into the pilot's seat and ripped off his helmet, letting it bounce away across the floor.

Between his treacherous ex-girlfriend, her _di'kut_ of a “boyfriend,” and the Echani bitch planting her flag in his ship, he was beginning to wonder if he had been better off trapped with Project Whiteclaw.

~~~~~~~~

It was about twenty minutes before he heard a quiet rap against the durasteel door of the cockpit. He looked up and said, “Who is it?”

“Jay. Can I come in?”

He quickly scooped up his fallen helmet and pulled it back over his head. Once done, he unsealed the cockpit door. “It's open.”

The plating over the entrance slid open and she slowly stepped over the threshold. She looked nervous, as if she was half-expecting a blaster shot to the face instead of a greeting. She stared at him for a few moments. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine.”

She sighed and made her way into the cockpit, easing herself into the copilot's seat. “Look,” she said, “I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Brianna. I just didn't know what to say. I couldn't exactly show up and say, _Hey Cin, I'm here to rescue you. By the way, your ex-girlfriend's dating someone else_.”

He shook his head. “I don't blame you. I probably wouldn't have believed you anyway. I would have had to hear it from her.”

She nodded and leaned back in her chair. “For what it's worth, I'm sorry. You had something really special with Brianna. Everyone could see it. It makes me sad to see that it's over.”

He sighed, leaning back as well and closing his eyes. “Five _kriffing_ years, Jay. We've been together since we were both just teenagers. How can she forget all that after just three months?”

She shrugged sympathetically. “You need someone a lot wiser than me to answer that question, Cin.”

She hesitated, then said, “If it's any consolation, Ash'amur's a real asshole. He acts all charming and nice when there are other people around, but if anyone pisses him off he turns vicious. He even went after me once. Denton leveled him with an uppercut to the chin and two other Mandos had to pull him away from the fight, but still...I don't know.”

She looked over at him. “I honestly think Brianna was happier with you.”

“Maybe,” he said, then sighed. “I don't really want to think about it any more.”

They lapsed into silence for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. Eventually, he looked over at his partner and said, “What about you?”

She turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “What about me?”

“This Denton guy. What's his story?”

She smiled and turned her gaze back to the ceiling. “He was born here on Mandalore. His dad was a cop, big surprise there. He signed on to the Keldabe force when he was eighteen and he's been trying to keep the streets safe ever since. “

“How'd you two meet?”

“He was the reporting officer when those Mandos were trying to kill me. He and Mia tracked down Suirotnoc and his gang. You met him actually, when everyone was up at the bastion pointing their guns at each other. I don't think you spoke to him, though.

“A few days after the whole deal was over, he offered to buy me dinner. We took it from there and we've been dating ever since.”

He nodded to himself. Vhetin had read the police report of Suirotnoc's fanatical stalking of his partner. He had wanted to be sure she wouldn't be in any further danger. From all he'd read, Officer Dral was honest, trustworthy, and concerned about the outcome of all his cases. A true _Mando'ad_, in every sense of the word.

“And how do you feel about dating again? You know, after...” He was hesitant to bring up the subject. He knew that Jay had been involved in a secret relationship with her commanding officer while serving with the navy. Her lover, a young man named Sade Nesson, had been killed in action in the same conflict that had resulted in Jay's imprisonment. She still had serious emotional scars from that day.

But she shrugged calmly and said, “I think I'm ready to be with Denton. It's been almost a year and a half since Malachor.”

“So you've moved on?”

She glanced over at him, frowning. There was no anger in her expression, however, just curiosity. “Moved on?” she echoed. “I never said that. I don't think I'll ever move on.”

“But you just said-”

“I'll never forget Sade,” she said, readjusting her position in her seat. “And I'll never stop loving every memory we made. But he'd want me to be happy. He'd want me to find someone else.”

He wondered if Brianna had reasoned along similar lines. “And are you happy?”

She stared at the readouts on the ceiling for a long time. Then she smiled and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am. It's good to have someone to care about again.”

She glanced over at him and grinned playfully. “Well, besides you of course. I mean, who doesn't want a mysterious loner Mandalorian with serious emotional baggage to be a part of their life? No offense intended.”

“None taken,” he murmured, staring at the control console in front of him. Then he sighed, sat forward, and began spinning up _Void_'s engines. Scans showed that everyone who had come to greet him had disembarked the ship and left the spaceport. Even the Echani had disappeared, at least for the moment. Jay noticed his actions and sat up as well as the ship began to hum and the deck began to vibrate beneath their feet.

“What are you doing?”

He flipped several switches and warmed the repulsor systems. “What you said reminded me of something. There's someone I need to go see. Someone I haven't seen in a long time. You're welcome to tag along if you want.”

“Sure,” she said with a shrug, buckling herself into her seat's crash webbing. “Who do you need to visit?”

He smiled a little despite himself as he guided his ship into the air and pointed it toward the north of Keldabe.

“My sister.”


	4. Janada Bralor

**Imperial Garrison Command, north of Keldabe, Mandalore**

Vhetin strode through the front doors of the Imperial headquarters, Jay just behind him. Together, they progressed past numerous security checkpoints as they made their way deep inside the facility. Jay merely had to turn over her pistol and her vibroblade, but Vhetin was forced to surrender his jetpack, gauntlets, even his kneepads – they were outfitted with dart shooters – before he was allowed to enter.

“Satisfied?” Vhetin said skeptically as a trooper finished scanning him for any ingested explosives or IEDs.

The trooper nodded and stepped back, deactivating the scanner. “You're clear. You can move through.”

Jay brushed off the trooper that was giving her an overly thorough pat-down and muttered, “Pig.”

He pointed a finger at her and growled, “Don't give me a reason, precious. You try and pull anything and you'll be stunned, cuffed, and jailed before you can bat one pretty eyelash.”

“Come on,” Vhetin said, putting a hand on his partner's shoulder and leading her away. “We'd better move on. We don't want any trouble.”

“So explain something to me please,” she said as they made their way down the hall, away from the security checkpoint. “I always heard you were a loner: few friends, no family, you know. I never knew you had a sister.”

“I don't. Not biologically. She adopted me as a little brother under Mandalorian custom.”

“Still, I always heard you didn't have any family.”

“You heard wrong.”

“Why did you never talk about her?”

He shrugged. “It never really came up.”

“Whatever,” she said with a sigh. She looked around with distaste at the slate-gray walls for a few moments. Finally, she muttered, “So she works at Imperial Garrison Command? Surprising for a Mandalorian.”

“She doesn't work here,” he said. “She wouldn't be caught dead working for Imperials.”

“So why is she here?”

“She's being... held for questioning.”

“Oh. _Oh_.”

“It's nothing serious,” he quickly clarified. “Apparently she got into a scrap with a couple Imperial officers a few days ago. She was arrested and sent here. I said I would get her out.”

“You sound as if this is nothing new.”

“It's not,” he said with an amused sigh. “She's been through here so many times she knows all the guards on a first-name basis.”

“Wow,” Jay said, shaking her head. “You certainly know how to pick 'em, Stripes.”

“Technically she picked me,” he pointed out. “I was only about fifteen when she adopted me. It was right before she was caught trying to sneak a crate full of angry nexu kittens into the Governor's personal quarters. She went to jail for a few weeks after the Imperials discovered the damage.”

“Wow,” she said again. “She sounds like quite a character.”

“You'll see for yourself in a few minutes.”

It was some time before they finally made it to the holding cells. Vhetin made a mental note to check back with the troopers on their way out – and to keep Jay separated from them – so they could reclaim their armaments. Imperials may be sticklers for law and order, but some of them weren't too proud to degrade to everyday thievery.

Once they emerged into the main hub of the detention cells, Vhetin stepped up to the control station in the center of the room. It was staffed by a pale, sick-looking human who was typing quickly into a holoterminal. He rapped his knuckles against the polished black surface of the control station to draw the man's attention.

The Imperial looked up, squinting at him, and muttered, “Eh? What, what do you want?”

“Vhetin and Moqena,” Vhetin explained, gesturing to himself and his partner, “here to visit a prisoner.”

“Identification?”

Vhetin produced his pilot's license, which the sick man looked over with a stifled cough. After a few moments, the Imperial handed the license back and continued tapping into his terminal. “Who're you here to see?”

“Prisoner two-eight-seven-JB,” Vhetin said calmly, tucking the license back into his belt.

“Oh. _Her_.”

“Is there a problem?”

The man coughed again, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “_She's_ the problem. She was processed three days ago and hasn't stopped attacking guards since.”

“Sounds like quite the charmer,” Jay muttered, half to herself.

Vhetin ignored her. “What did she do to get in here in the first place?”

The man sighed, wiping his clammy forehead. “Four days ago, a pair of stormtroopers were dispatched to a local cantina in response to a disturbance call. When the troopers arrived at the... _Oy'bat_ tapcaf?”

“_Oyu'baat_,” Vhetin corrected.

“Yes, there,” the Imperial said. “When the troopers arrived, they found the prisoner engaged in a fight with two off-duty officers. The officers had her pinned against an alley wall, but she still managed to break free and attack not only the officers, but also the investigating stormtroopers. Two more troopers had to be called out before they managed to subdue and restrain her. She's been here ever since.”

Jay raised an eyebrow. “You needed six Imperials to take her to jail? I'm starting to see the family resemblance, Cin.”

Vhetin bit back a laugh. So far, nothing in the report came as a surprise to him. The woman in question was as tough as Mandalorians came and had taught him everything he knew about hand-to-hand combat outside of his preferred Teräs Käsi fighting style. A couple half-drunk Imperial officers, even supported by stormtroopers, would be easy pickings.

“Can I see her?” he asked.

The man typed into the holoterminal in front of him, squinted at it, then sniffed. “The roster says there's already someone there – looks like a boyfriend – but she's refused to see him. You can try your luck, but keep your visit under fifteen minutes.”

“One more thing,” Vhetin said before the Imperial could return to his terminal. “She's been given a chance at bail?”

“Yes, though she's refused to pay it.”

“I'll take care of it. How much?”

“Two thousand.”

Vheitn nodded and dug out several high-denomination credit chips, tossing them onto the main desk. The Imperial scooped them up and said, “Now if you'll just take care of this paperwork...”

Vhetin did as he was told, quickly finishing the paperwork before pushing it back to the Imperial. The man looked it all over, then nodded. “That's fine. She'll need to appear in court in two week's time, but you can tell her she's free to go.”

He nodded and stepped past the desk, heading for the door that led to the facility's holding cells. As someone who was frequently on bad terms with the Empire, he knew the way as confidently as he knew his way to the _Oyu'baat_. He'd spent several nights in here himself.

As he turned the corner into the long hallway that housed the base's holding cells, he saw that he and Jay weren't alone. Another Mandalorian was standing alone in the hall, arms folded across his chest. He was wearing dark green and black armor with a dark brown flight suit and a tattered black shoulder cape. His expression was weary and he rubbed at his short beard as he stared at the heavy blast door in front of him. He looked up when he heard Vhetin's approach and shook his long black hair out of his face. His face broke out in a tired smile.

“Vhetin,” he said, stepping forward and clasping Vhetin's arm, “I heard you had showed up again. I'm glad you came.”

“It's good to see you, Verdo,” Vhetin said with a nod. He gestured to Jay. “This is my partner. I don't think you've met.”

“Jaimie Moqena,” Jay supplied, shaking hands with the Mandalorian. “Nice to meet you.”

“Verdo Canveri,” he said with a nod. “Vhetin has told me a lot about you, Jaimie.”

“Jay, please.”

Vhetin, meanwhile, had stepped up to the heavy durasteel door and peered through the small window. The room beyond was too dark to see anything. Just a dark smear seen through dirty transparisteel.

He looked back to Verdo. “How is she?”

He let out an exhausted chuckle. “As calm and collected as she always is.”

“Oh. That bad, huh?”

“Worse. She's been attacking any Imperial that comes in and she won't even talk to me. I tried to pay her bail so she can get out of here, but I just don't have the credits.”

Vhetin nodded slowly and said, “I paid her bail. She's free to go once I'm finished talking to her. I'll see if I can calm her down.”

Verdo raised his hands in warning and took a step back. “Your funeral, _vod_. I have first-hand experience dealing with her when she gets like this. I'm staying out here.”

Vhetin cracked a smile that was hidden behind his helmet faceplate. “If I'm not out of there in ten minutes...”

Verdo laughed and gestured for Vhetin to go ahead. Jay glanced between the two, looking completely lost. He didn't blame her; he and Verdo had known each other for over five years.

Vhetin gestured for Jay to keep close. Then he slid open the door's locking mechanism, pulled open the door, and quickly stepped inside before the prisoner could escape. Jay slipped in behind him, looking nervous.

The room was extremely dark and his HUD had to brighten its video display once the door slammed shut. As he looked for the prisoner inside, he saw that the cell was dingy and disgusting. There was a puddle of water in the center of the room and the rest of the floor was slick with condensed moisture. There was graffiti scrawled across every available surface and someone had carved _IMPERIALS SUCK GETT'SE _in foot-high letters across the wall.

“Charming,” Jay said with a grimace as she studied the room as well. “And your sister's been stuck in here for three days?”

“It's not so bad,” a quiet female voice suddenly said. “Once you get used to the smell.”

Jay jumped and spun toward the sound. Vhetin followed at a slower pace. He picked out the shadowy shape of a prison cot anchored against the wall. Sitting cross-legged on top of it was the dark figure of a woman, her eyes shining in the darkness. She took them both in, looking them up and down for a few moments, as still as a durasteel statue.

“Why'd you come?” she eventually asked. “And who's the girl?”

“_Girl_?” Jay echoed indignantly.

Vhetin stepped in. “This is my partner, Jay.”

“Really?” the woman said, eyes flashing again. She turned her scrutiny to Jay, looking her up and down again. “I've heard a lot about you, Jay. Thought you'd look tougher. Not so... fragile.”

Jay flushed, looking furious. The shadowy woman ignored her and instead turned her gaze back to Vhetin. She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes.

“I heard you were back in town,” she said. “Wasn't sure I wanted to believe it.”

“I would have thought you'd be happier to see me,” Vhetin said. “I've been missing for three months.”

The woman shrugged. “I knew you'd be back sooner or later. You always are.”

“I heard that you were attacked. Are you all right?”

“Imperials are all talk and no fight,” she replied nonchalantly. “You didn't answer my question. Why are you here?”

He stared at her for a few moments, then said, “I need your help, Janada.”

“Oh?” she said. “With what? You're the big, bad bounty hunter. Between you and your pretty little partner, I would have thought you had all the firepower you needed.”

“It's not an issue of firepower,” Vhetin said. “It's an issue of equipment. I need a new suit.”

That got her attention. She leaned forward into the light, revealing a square face with long black hair tied back in a simple loose braid. She had dark, angry eyes, and thin, arching eyebrows that gave her a powerful gaze when she frowned. She was wearing an orange prison jumpsuit, the top of which she had unzipped and tied around her waist. Beneath that she was wearing an oil-stained sleeveless shirt that revealed the tattoo of the Supercommando insignia – a variation of the traditional Mandalorian _kyr'bes_ or mythosaur skull – on her shoulder.

She stared at him with her dark gaze for a few moments, as if judging whether he was lying, then slowly leaned back into the shadows. “Why would you want my help?”

“Come on, Janada,” he said, a little exasperated. She was toying with him, poking fun at him, he knew it. “You're the best engineer I know and we both know you love designing new armor variations. Plus you're the only one I'd trust with a job like this. We are legally family, after all.”

She stared at him for a long time. Then her lips twitched up in a small smile, breaking her facade for but a moment. She quickly settled back into her previous glare and said, “I'm listening.”

He folded his arms and said, “You know the particulars of my capture?”

She nodded. “Brianna filled me in on the details a few days after you disappeared. She seemed pretty broken up about it all.”

Vhetin's face turned down in a scowl at the thought of his ex-girlfriend. “Yeah, well she's obviously moved past that phase.”

He forcibly pushed those dark thoughts aside and said, “When I went up against those Red Guards and the stormtroopers that followed them, I realized that my traditional armor provided good ballistic protection, but slowed me down. I need to be lighter and faster, but not so much that I sacrifice all my armor's protection.”

“What are you proposing?” she asked, leaning forward again and rubbing her chin thoughtfully.

He displayed a series of schematics from his gauntlet holoprojector into mid-air and said, “I was thinking typical plates and helmet made out of a durasteel-phrik alloy with a single coating of _beskar_, as well as compound arm and leg armor. I also have some ideas about interchangeable gauntlet weaponry that you might find interesting.”

She stared at the schematics, then sighed and leaned back against the wall. “That's all well and good, but I can't design anything while I'm stuck in here.”

“I've paid your bail,” Vhetin said, taking a step back and gesture toward the door. “You're free to go, but you'll have to be in court in two weeks.”

“Or they'll do what?” she asked with a wider smile. “Send a bounty hunter after me?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I'll drag you over there myself. I didn't just drop two thousand credits so you could skip your court date.”

Her face finally broke into a full grin and she quickly hopped off her cot. She clapped him on the shoulder affectionately. “It's good to have you back, Stripes. I missed you.”

“I'm serious,” he said as she stepped past him and pushed open the cell block door. He once again secured his helmet over his head as he followed her outside. “I've got more important things to do than constantly bail an adopted older sister out of jail.”

Janada blinked against the brighter lights outside the cell. Verdo saw her and sighed in relief. He stepped forward and hugged her gently.

“You had me worried, _cyar'ika_,” he said. “The way you were behaving, I was starting to think those Imperials were going to keep you in there forever.”

She grinned and hugged him back. “I figured that as long as I was stuck here, I might as well give these kriffers a show to remember.”

“Just like last time?” Vhetin asked.

“Or the time before that?” Verdo added, stepping back.

“Kriff you both,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. “Let's just get the hell out of here, yeah?”

Vhetin nodded and pointed further down the hall. “Contraband is stored down that hall. You can pick up your gear while I finish up the paperwork to get you out of here.”

“Yeah, I remember the way,” Janada said. “I know this place like the back of my hand.”

“You say that like it's an accomplishment.”

“Hey,” she scoffed as they parted ways, “if you ever have to break into the cell block to rescue some big fancy space princess or something during your work, who will you turn to for help?”

Vhetin laughed, then put a hand on Jay's shoulder. He lowered his voice and said, “Go with her to pick up her equipment, will you? Keep an eye on her and make sure she keeps out of trouble.”

“Me?” Jay asked, surprised. “Why me?”

“Isn't it obvious?” he said as he and Verdo headed back to the main reception area. “She likes you.”

Jay stared after her partner, then sighed and jogged the other way, after Janada.

~~~~~~~~

Jay leaned against the wall outside the fem's dressing room in the cargo storage area of the cell blocks, waiting while Janada changed out of her prison fatigues and into her Mando armor. She entertained herself for a while by observing all the contraband weapons and equipment the Imperials had stored there; it was Mandalore after all, so there were very few drugs or other non-lethal objects to be found. But when the officer in charge of the storage bay began glaring at her warningly, she decided to find another way to keep herself occupied.

“How's it going in there?” she called.

“Fine,” came Janada's curt response.

“Then what's the holdup?”

“Have you ever worn _beskar'gam_?”

Jay frowned. “No.”

“Well this stuff has, like, nineteen layers,” the woman snapped. “Not exactly something you just slip into. Get it?”

“Right,” Jay said, lapsing into silence again.

There was a clatter of something metallic inside the changing room, followed by a curse from Janada. Eventually, the woman grunted and said, “So... you're the one who busted Stripes out of that Imperial prison?”

“It was a research facility,” Jay corrected slowly, “but yeah. Me and my team.”

“I guess I owe you, then,” Janada said matter-of-factly. “I was starting to believe everyone's talk that he was dead.”

Jay frowned. “How did you meet Cin? I mean... well, you don't seem like someone he would run across in his daily schedule. You're no bounty hunter.”

“You obviously don't know Mandalorians very well,” Janada chuckled. “No, I may not be a _beroya_, but I can hold my own in any fight Cin can.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

There was a pause from the other side of the changing room door. Then, Janada said, “I've known Stripes since he was only fourteen years old. I assume you've been told about how he came to _Manda'yaim_?”

“He told me, yes.”

“Yeah, well a few months after... _it_ happened, Rame asked me to teach a new recruit of his how to fight like a Mando. No martial arts, no acrobatic Teras Kasi crap, just simple hand-to-hand combat. I thought, _what the hell_, and agreed. That's how I met Cin.”

“What, and you just adopted him like that?”

“Of course not,” she said. “But I liked the kid, and he seemed to like me. Like I'm sure you know, he was really shy about his past. I was curious, but didn't press the issue; there are plenty of _Mando'ade_ with rough histories in Keldabe.

“When he went off to be a big, bad bounty hunter,” she continued, “he usually came to me for equipment requests. Things got close. Sometimes I think I was one of the only people he trusted. And I mean actually trusted, not just someone he acted nice around.”

“So how does he go from close friend to little brother?” Jay asked. “I like Cin too, but I'm not about to make him family any time soon.”

“Difference of personality, I guess,” Janada replied nonchalantly. “Truth? I felt sorry for the guy. He had no family, few friends, a questionable future. I don't think anyone should go through life without the comfort of a family.”

“Noble of you,” Jay said, not sure if she believed the woman or not.

“Watch that tone, _aruetii_,” the woman muttered. “You can believe what you want, but I'm telling the truth.”

She sighed. “He came to talk to me after a really tough Imperial contract. He was... pretty broken up. Apparently had been ordered to shoot a kid, but he couldn't do it.”

“I've heard about that,” Jay said. “When he tried to leave the Imperial task force, they claimed he was deserting.”

“Right. I'd never seen him in such a state. He talked about how he couldn't handle it, couldn't handle the violence and the evil he had to face. He kept babbling on about how _it_ wasn't fair and how he wished _it_ had never happened. I eventually asked what _it_ was. He was reluctant at first, but he told me everything.”

Jay rolled her eyes. “I wish he'd come clean as easily with me. I almost had to shoot him before he decided to tell the truth.”

“I'm not surprised. Anyway, after he told me what had happened to him I decided it was long past time he realized that he could have a family to care about him. Within the next minute, he was my little brother.”

“That quick?”

She chuckled. “You've never seen a Mando adoption ceremony? It's short, sweet, and to the point. We're not much for getting all teary-eyed and poetic at times like that. Usually the people who're being adopted don't want or need that kind of _osik_.”

The door handle rattled and Janada stepped out of the changing room. Jay was surprised at the sudden change in the woman. Before, she had been wearing simple clothing: a sleeveless shirt and a standard-issue prison jumpsuit. Now, however, she was dressed in angular Mandalorian battle armor, painted a deep blood red with black designs across almost every surface. A black cape hung from her shoulders where most Mandos sported a jetpack, and she was carrying her helmet under her arm. Like the rest of her armor, her helmet was red with black trim and had a curving black triangular design painted onto the forehead of the helmet. She had pulled her hair back in a tight bun and was staring at Jay expectantly.

“Well?” she said. “Are we gonna get out of here or are you going to spend all day admiring my kit?”

As they stepped down the hall toward the contraband storage room, Jay had to admit Janada's armor was worthy of admiration. The suit was unlike any of the other Jay had seen during her time on Mandalore. Instead of the usual three-piece chest plate, it looked like Janada's armor was made of a compound neck/chest guard that tapered down in a triangular shape to a rounded point at her chest. Beneath that, she had the more traditional plates that were shaped a little smaller than usual for increased mobility to bend or turn at the waist. It looked like the plates had been bound together by a heavy layer of leather that was fastened to her flak vest. Janada also had interlocking plates bound around her arms and legs, compound armor that didn't seem to impede her movement in the slightest.

“So...” Jay said slowly, “where did you get your armor? It doesn't look like a MandalMotors job.”

“I made it.”

Jay blinked. “You made it? By yourself?”

“Pretty much,” Janada replied with a shrug. “After I learned how to work _beskar_-”

“I thought only a few Mandos knew how to do that.”

Janada chuckled. “And you think I'm not one of 'em?”

“I didn't say that.”

“Just 'cause you found me in jail doesn't mean I'm like the other jailbirds stuck in this hellhole. I'm smarter than you think.”

“Yet you were caught.”

“By no less than six Imperials,” Janada shot back. “Two of which had stun prods. Try those odds on, girl, and we'll see which of us is still standing after five minutes.”

“Sorry... I didn't mean to insult you,” Jay quickly said, cursing inwardly. She knew she should be polite – this was her partner's sister, after all – but she found it hard to get a reading on Janada. She seemed extremely laid-back, especially considering she had been held in captivity for the past few days. But Jay could also sense a steely determination behind the jokes and the sarcasm, something she recognized from her partnership with Vhetin.

This was obviously a woman to be reckoned with, and a woman who had taught Cin a lot. She deserved Jay's respect, even if Jay wasn't sure she wanted to give it yet.

“So,” Janada eventually said, “you're my little bro's partner?”

“Yeah,” Jay replied slowly. “I have been for the past year.”

“He talks about you a lot, you know. At least, he did before he up and disappeared on us. He's very impressed with your abilities.”

“I can't say I'm not impressed by his,” she replied cautiously. “What's your interest?”

“Curiosity,” Janada replied evenly. “Don't get all defensive, _aruetii_. People usually can't stand Stripes even for a short time; his attitude usually gets to 'em. But you've been working with him for a year now and you two aren't at each other's throats.”

She stopped and turned to Jay, folding her arms across her chest. “So here's my question: what's _your_ interest?”

“What?”

“My little brother has very rarely partnered with anyone. He worked with Fett for a few months and he ended up shot in the back and hunted by the Empire. He worked with Durge for a bit and almost got blown into red paste when they got in a simple disagreement over whose transport to take for the contract. So what makes you so special?”

Jay paused, momentarily taken aback by the woman's aggressive tone. “I... I don't know. I'm just trustworthy, I guess.”

Janada narrowed her eyes, then nodded silently and set off down the hall again. Jay stared after her for a few moments, then scowled and said, “Now wait a damn minute.”

She quickly caught up with the other woman and stepped in front of her, halting their progress. “What's your problem? You think I'm some kind of stupid _aruetii _holding Cin back or something?”

Janada raised an eyebrow calmly. “I'm looking out for my little brother. He's smart enough, but he sometimes lacks a sense of perspective. He trusts too quickly.”

“And you think I'm untrustworthy?” Jay said, folding her arms skeptically.

Janada held her glare for a long time. Then the woman sighed and said, “Look... you got any family?”

Jay nodded silently.

“Are you close to any of 'em?”

“My little sister,” she said slowly. “Why?”

“You'd do anything for this sister?” Janada asked. “You'd give your life for her?”

“I would,” Jay said immediately. It was true; she'd do anything for Arian, even if it cost her life. “What are you getting at?”

“Let's just say I was close to my family as well,” Janada said, stepping past her, “and I lost almost all of them. The only family I really have now is my own little sister... and Cin.”

“But...” Jay frowned. “Your last name is Bralor. Clan Bralor is one of the biggest families on Mandalore.”

“And I give them my allegiance, loyalty, and love,” Janada said. “But being adopted into a family isn't the same as welcoming someone else into yours. I'd do anything for the Bralors, but as far as immediate family... all I have is my own little sis and Stripes.”

She shook her head as she walked. “You'd do anything for your sister, and I'd do anything for my brother. I'm just watching his back. That means watching you as well.”

“I've been through a lot with Cin,” Jay said, following closely. “There were a hundred times I could have hurt him or betrayed him. And I didn't. Hell, I brought him back in the first place!”

Janada nodded. “I know. I guess...”

She stopped again and fixed Jay with an intense stare. “Like I said, he's some of the last true family I have. I love him like he's been my brother all my life. And if you do anything to hurt him, you'll get a VIP spot at the top of my shit list. Got it?”

Jay thought over that. Aggression aside, Janada was saying she was worried about her brother. Jay could respect that, even if she was a little insulted by the way the other woman stated that concern. It sounded like she had lost loved ones; a situation with which Jay could sympathize.

Janada eventually fixed Jay with a thoughtful stare. “Tell you what: I'll make you a deal.”

Jay raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Cin's been gone a while,” the other woman said. “And this mess with Brianna is going to screw with him in more ways than one. Now, you want me to trust you with my little brother's life?”

“Maybe.”

“Then keep an eye on him. Keep him out of trouble. Make sure he... I don't know, make sure he knows he has someone to talk to. That there's someone there for him. 'Kay?”

“You're his sister,” Jay said. “Doesn't he know he can come to you?”

“You know what Stripes is like. He doesn't like opening up to anyone, especially if they're close to him. But if he came clean with his past, that must mean he trusts you. He'll open up to you, even when he won't talk to me or Rame or Brianna. So... just be there for him, will you?”

Jay thought over this, then nodded. “I'm his partner. It's my duty to watch his back, even when we aren't in a firefight. I know he watches mine, so it's only fair I return the favor.”

Janada nodded, looking impressed. “You've got _gett'se_, _aruetii_. And if Cin thinks you're trustworthy...”

She hesitated, then held out a hand. Jay stared at it, then grasped it firmly and shook it.

“... then I think we're gonna get along just fine.”

Jay nodded, then followed as Janada continued down the hall to reclaim her gear. The contraband office was an armored checkpoint with a single transparisteel viewing window. Behind the window sat a bored-looking Imperial, watching them with barely-concealed contempt.

“I'm here to pick up the gear you stole from me,” Janada said, fixing the Imperial with a defiant glare.

“Name?”

“Janada Umaan Bralor.”

The Imperial pulled up a file on his holoterminal, then nodded. “Inventory lists a necklace, a field pistol, and two knives. That the sum of it?”

“They're called longdaggers, _di'kut_,” Janada muttered. “Not knives.”

“Whatever. Is that the extent of the equipment confiscated upon your arrest?”

“Yeah, that's it.”

The Imperial stood from his seat with a melodramatic sigh and slouched into the shelves of confiscated weapons and tech held in his room. He disappeared behind one storage rack and Jay could hear him rummaging around. He finally brought back a plastoid box, which he slid through the opening in the transparisteel window. Janada quickly snatched the box from him, taking it to a table set into the wall just behind them. She pulled the lid off and quickly looked over the box's contents, no doubt judging whether the Imperials had messed with her stuff.

Looking over the woman's shoulder, Jay saw two crossed knives –_longdaggers_, she reminded herself – safely held in a backpack-like sheath made of black leather. There was also a heavily-modified field pistol that was tiny, only about the size of her hand, but looked like it could definitely pack a punch. The first thing Janada grabbed, however, was a necklace made of tiny, interlocking durasteel chains. Dangling from the end of the necklace were two glowing armor tabs, looking as if they had been pulled from Mandalorian armor.

“What is that?” she asked as Janada quickly fastened the necklace around her throat and tucked it down the front collar of her suit.

“Family memento,” was all the woman would say.

Jay narrowed her eyes a little, but didn't push the issue. She had spent enough time with Vhetin to know when someone didn't want to talk about something. So she instead nodded toward the longdaggers and said, “I've seen Mandalorians use all kinds of weapons, but I've never seen a weapon like that.”

“Another family memento,” Janada said as she picked up the sheathed longdaggers. She slung the backpack sheath over her shoulders, tucking it under her cape so the handles poked up through the collar, then pulled one dagger free. Jay saw the wickedly curved blade of the weapon was made of polished silver _beskar_ and was inset with tiny Mandalorian runes. Jay tried to make out the words, but didn't have enough of a working knowledge of _Mando'a_ to understand it.

“What's that say?”

“_Vercopa ibic kad'ikase hiibir sol'yc tal, gayiyla dalyc akaanir,_” Janada said quietly.

“And that means?”

“_May this blade draw first blood, wherever she may fight_. It's an ancient Mando blessing, back from when we actually had religion.”

“And your weapons are female?”

Janada grinned. “Most _aruetiise_ see their ships as female. It's the same concept for us _Mando'ade_. We just focus on more... useful tools.”

“Right. And are you any good with a... what did you call it? _Kad'ikase_?”

Janada laughed and sheathed the blade across her back with a single, fluid motion. “Let's just say you wouldn't want to find yourself on the other side of a battlefield when I've got these babies. Remember, I taught Cin everything he knows about melee weapons.”

Jay pondered that, then nodded. “Right. So you're good.”

“_Very _good,” said a new voice. They turned to find Vhetin and Verdo approaching. Vhetin, the speaker, tipped his head when he saw Janada in full armor and said, “Nice to see you're bouncing back from your incarceration. Just try not to use those blades before we leave.”

“No promises,” Janada said with a sudden scowl. She glared at the contraband officer and said, “These kriffers took my stuff in the first place. Besides, _kad'ikase_ are next to impossible to identify on an autopsy report. They look like any other knife slash. They just kill quicker.”

She drew her thumb across her throat, still staring at the contraband officer. The man shifted uncomfortably, then busied himself with his holoterminal, pointedly avoiding Janada's challenging gaze.

Vhetin stepped between the two and said, “Okay, calm down, _vod_. Let's remember who just paid for you to get out of here. Try not to completely bankrupt me in the next ten minutes, all right?”

“No promises,” she said again, then set off down the hall.

Jay stared after her, then looked to her partner. “I don't mean to be rude, Cin,” she said, “but I can't tell if I like her or if she scares the living kriff out of me.”

“I think it's a mix of both,” Verdo said with a grin.

~~~~~~~~

A visitor was waiting for them when the group returned to _Void, _which was stationed in the small docking bay outside Imperial Garrison Command. Denton Dral was leaning against the doorframe leading out to _Void_, watching the ship intently. Jay's face broke into a smile when she saw him; Vhetin and the others hung back warily, unsure of this newcomer in their midst.

Dral smiled when he saw Jay, gave her a quick kiss, and exchanged a few quiet words with her. When she turned and ushered the others closer, Vhetin noticed the gold-armored man's distracted gaze. Something was clearly wrong.

“Officer Dral,” he said, tipping his head in greeting. “What can we do for you?”

“I see you managed to get your sister out of jail,” Dral said with a crooked grin. “Good; Ume'o has been asking about her whereabouts a little too often for my patience.”

“What do you want?” Janada said, folding her arms. “I don't think you came all this way to visit me.”

Dral rubbed his chin, looking lost in thought. Eventually he sighed and said, “About six hours ago, we were called in to investigate an attempted homicide. When we got there, we found out that a _Mando'ad _had tried to kill a local storekeeper. Just barged in, pulled a gun...”

“And what makes that so special?”

“The assailant, who ended up dead, was outfitted with some kind of armored collar. We think it was placed on the guy against his will. Now, we don't know what the collar did to this guy or who put it on him. But the preliminary autopsy showed that the collar was definitely the cause of death and the guy had contusions on his wrists and ankles.”

“So he had been tied up,” Vhetin said. “Held captive.”

“For quite a long time, it seems. The victim's family reported that he had been missing for two weeks before he showed up dead at our crime scene. And anyone who can beat up and kidnap a Mando warrior in his prime...”

He let the threat hang in the air.

“What are you asking?” Vhetin said. He had to admit, he was interested now. Dral was right; anyone who could subdue a well-trained Mandalorian warrior was a threat. And if this guy was planning to kidnap more... “You want me and Jay to help your investigation?”

Dral sighed. “Not... not quite. The enforcement office doesn't like turning to outside help for investigations. But the truth is that we're stumped here. If you could just come down to the crime scene and poke around for a bit... you know, offer any input...”

Jay nodded instantly. “We can do that.”

Vhetin held up a hand. “Not so fast, Jay. I've got some things I have to take care of first. I just got back, so I'm busy for the moment.”

“What, you're not going to help?” Jay said, sounding genuinely surprised.

He shook his head. “No. But I suggest we split up. You head down to the crime scene. You can record anything you find and send it to me. I have to head down to MandalMotors anyway; I'm sure there's someone down there that'll be able to find out what kind of collar that is.”

Janada cleared her throat loudly. Vhetin looked to her and slowly said, “...or I could just ask you when we get there.”

“Damn right,” the woman muttered.

Jay thought over this, then nodded. “Right. I'll give you a call if I find anything out of the ordinary.”

“I don't want to impose,” Dral quickly said. “Vhetin, I know you just got back and I'm sure you aren't feeling your best. If you want to sit this one out, I won't hold it against you.”

As if on cue, Vhetin felt his stomach churn dangerously. He quickly forced the feeling away. “I'm fine. And I'd be happy to help you out. As soon as I'm finished up with my own work, I'll head straight over to the crime scene.”

Jay nodded. “Think you can give me a ride to the scene, Denton?”

Dral nodded. “Sure. But... there's one other thing.”

Vhetin raised an eyebrow. “What's that?”

“Well... you and Jay aren't the only ones the enforcement office has reached out to.”

“Who else will be working with us?”

“We've sent an officer to ask your new companion, the Handmaiden, for assistance,” Dral said with a grimace. “As distasteful as it might be working with an Echani, she claims to have traveled all over the galaxy. Plus, aren't Echani known for, you know, taking one look at an area and being able to tell people all kinds of things about it?”

Jay nodded. “Yeah. But you haven't seen Cin and his psychometry.”

“His what?”

She shook her head. “I'll explain later.”

“And who else will be with us?” Vhetin asked.

“Another bounty hunter who expressed interest in helping,” Dral said hesitantly. “She said she knew the victim and insisted that she be allowed access.”

“Might be useful,” Vhetin said. “We might be able to interview her and get a little more info. Who is she?”

“Do you really have to ask?” said a familiar voice. Brianna stepped out from behind the doorway just behind Denton, dressed in her full hunting regalia, arms folded across her chest.

Vhetin narrowed his eyes. “Brianna.”

Janada sighed and muttered, “Uh-oh. Shit-storm alert.”

Brianna glared at Janada, then hesitantly met Vhetin's gaze. “Look, don't make a big deal out of this. I knew Matt and I promised his wife I would figure out what happened. That's the only reason I'm here.”

Vhetin said nothing. Dral looked to Vhetin apologetically, then said, “The Handmaiden has already agreed to meet us at the crime scene. Jay and Brianna will catch a ride with me.”

“Then you know where to find me,” Vhetin said, stepping through the door and heading toward _Void_. He purposefully kept himself from looking at Brianna. “If anyone needs my help, they can reach me at MandalMotors Tower.”

“I'll keep you updated,” Jay said. “See you in a bit.”

“Be careful,” Brianna added, then looked as is if she wished she hadn't said anything.

“Your concern is noted,” Vhetin said coldly, then strode up the landing ramp. Janada pulled on her helmet and followed, Verdo just behind. Within the next five minutes, _Void_ lifted off and roared into the sky, leaving Denton, Jay, and Brianna far behind.


	5. The First Bombing

“This is the place,” Denton called from the front seat. He guided the speeder carefully through the streets, wary of unobservant pedestrians. “Retur'ce's Re-Supply.”

Jay looked out the window as they passed the shop. It looked like every other building in Keldabe; old, worn, and a little shabby. The only difference was that this building had police speeders swarming all around it. Two officers – wearing uniform gold armor like Denton – were blocking off the area with holographic crime scene markers.

“Who'd want to kill someone here?” Jay asked. “Was it a robbery?”

“Witness reports claim otherwise,” Denton said, keeping his eyes on the road. “The victim just walked in and pulled a gun on the shopkeeper. He didn't want anything from the register, didn't take any merchandise...”

Brianna shook her head. “I hate cases like this. So we're starting from scratch?”

“Pretty much,” Denton admitted. “Our only lead is that collar. Let's hope your boyfriend can dig something up.”

“Ex-boyfriend,” Brianna corrected tersely.

“Whatever. All I'm really concerned about is solving this case.”

He parked the speeder and triggered the comm unit mounted on his collar plate. “This is Unit Five-Bravo-Eight-Nine, on scene with our advisors.”

The comm crackled and a female voice said, “Copy that, Five-Bravo. We have the... other one... here already.”

Denton sighed as they exited the speeder. “Great. Sounds like the white-head is already here.”

Jay shot him a glare. “Hey. Remember what I said about using that term?”

He flinched. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

“For as great a warrior as you claim this Echani is,” Brianna muttered, “you'd think she'd be a little less sensitive about what people call her.”

“You know how you get all touchy when people comment on your clothes?”

Brianna looked down at her hunting gear: a revealing leather flak vest cut at the arms, chest, and belly, with rough work pants and heavy-duty combat boots. She scowled and said, “Yeah, but people are unbelievably rude when they talk about my gear.”

“Mandalorians and Echani have a long-standing rivalry,” Jay said. “You think the comments she's getting are any less rude?”

Brianna thought about this for a few moments, then muttered, “I guess I can see your point.”

The female officer met them at the door to the shop. Unlike Denton and the other cops in the area, she wasn't wearing the reflective gold armor of the local precinct. She was wearing a brown leather jacket with a black undershirt. She held out a hand to Denton, shaking her short blonde hair out of her eyes.

“Officer Dral,” the woman said. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise,” Denton said. “And you are?”

“Trainee Khale Ruusan,” she replied quickly, snapping off a crisp salute. Jay recognized the motion from a previous deployment with the Mandalorian Supercommandos. This woman obviously marched with the mercenary army, though her slightly jumpy attitude suggested she had little experience with the police force.

Denton seemed to come to this conclusion as well. He frowned and said, “Trainee?”

“Yes sir,” Khale said with a quick nod. “I'll be a full officer in a few months. The office is a little short-handed at the moment, so they sent me down to oversee progress here.”

“Right,” Denton said. He gestured to Jay and Brianna, “These are our two consultants: my girlfriend, Jay Moqena, and Brianna Bellan. Both bounty hunters.”

“More _beroyas_, eh?” Ruusan said. “Well the white one is already taking a look around inside.”

“Any updates?” Denton said as the officer led them into the shop.

“We've got nothing new from the witnesses, but if you want to talk to them, they're in the back room. We've also got an extra person to interview. Showed up about an hour ago saying he knew the victim. He's also in the back room.”

As they stepped through the door, Jay almost instantly picked out the white-clad figure of the Handmaiden standing in the center of the busy police investigation. She had her hood pulled up over her head and was simply looking around the room with narrowed blue eyes. When she saw Jay, she nodded slightly in greeting and returned to her studies.

Jay touched Brianna's arm and motioned for the other woman to follow her. She stepped toward the Echani and said, “Finding anything interesting?”

Handmaiden sighed. “I have attempted three times already to explain the cause of death to these Justicars, but they will not listen to me.”

“They're called police officers,” Brianna said. She spoke slowly, as if cautious of how she dealt with the Handmaiden.

“Among my people,” Handmaiden murmured, kneeling and staring closely at a spot on the hardwood floor, “those charged with keeping the peace are known as Justicars. I believe such a title to be more indicative of the profession than _police officer_.”

“Right,” Brianna sighed, rubbing her eyes wearily. “So you Echani really are as friendly as they say.”

“Les,” Jay said, “This is Brianna Bellan, a fellow bounty hunter.”

“A Mandalorian?”

“No. An outsider like you and me.”

The Handmaiden slowly stood, looking at Brianna with newfound respect. “You pledge no allegiance to these brutish mercenaries, yet you chose to live among them?”

She narrowed her eyes and held out a black-gloved hand. “I believe we are both warriors of the same quality. I would be honored to fight alongside you someday, Brianna Bellan.”

Brianna hesitantly shook her hand, looking uncomfortable. “Um... thanks. I think.”

“You said you figured out the cause of death?” Jay asked.

The Echani nodded. “I have been studying the crime scene. I have a good idea of what happened here.”

“Care to show us what you've found?”

The Handmaiden nodded and led them back toward the door. She pointed to a particular area of the floor. “See the scuff marks there? The breakup in the minute layer of dust and dirt? Those are bootprints of the culprit as he staggered into the shop.”

Jay didn't see anything, but she trusted the Handmaiden's abilities. She'd seen Les track down Imperial agents based on a single hair fiber taken from the target's jacket. Vhetin's psychometry was the only thing Jay could think of that was more impressive.

“Okay,” she said, “so this is where the guy came through the door. What more can you tell us?”

Les then led them to the transparisteel countertop and gestured to a faint handprint on the surface. “There was another man standing here. The pressure marks on the surface indicate he was leaning here. He was speaking with the shopkeeper. Things were casual. Calm.”

“So what happened?”

She gestured to a stand of farming tools next to the door. “That stand was knocked over. Someone – I assume the same being who was standing here – was thrown into the display.”

She then led them to the center of the room and knelt over a dark, dried bloodstain on the floor. Next to it was a holographic representation of where the victim's body had fallen. The Handmaiden disregarded this, however, and tapped a slight chip out of the floor in the center of the blood pool. “Here, the victim was struck with a sharpened weapon, possibly a vibrolade. He was stabbed through the boot, the weapon gouging a chip out of the floor.”

She led them across the floor and gestured to several scratches on the floor. “After being stabbed, the victim fell and crawled across the floor. The collar he was wearing scratched the floor in random, erratic patterns. He was not in control of his body. He was convulsing violently.”

She pointed to a small scorch mark near the edge of one counter. “This burn suggests that there was a sudden burst of electricity.”

“Was he hit with a stun shot?” Brianna asked.

“According to witness reports, he was. But the convulsing was inconsistent with the power of such a shot.”

“Which means?”

“There was more electricity coursing through this man's system than a single stun shot could transfer,” the Handmaiden said. “I don't know the purpose of the man's collar, but I believe it sent a sudden surge of electricity though his body that eventually killed him.”

Brianna nodded, obviously impressed. “Nice work. And you learned all that from just looking at the crime scene?”

“Echani are masters of observation,” the Handmaiden murmured. “We are trained from infancy to search for the slightest of clues in an environment. It is one of the many reasons we are so effective in combat.”

Jay nodded, half to herself, and said, “If the officers won't listen to you, I'll take this to Denton. He'll pay attention.”

“We may also need to get Cin down here,” Brianna said, leaning against the counter. “He may be able to use his psychometry to figure out even more.”

The Handmaiden narrowed her eyes skeptically. “Your Mandalorian can read memories through touch? Please excuse me, but that is ridiculous.”

“Doesn't matter what you think,” Jay said. “He's done incredible things with his ability.”

“I will believe it when I see it.”

“Didn't you used to say the same thing?” Brianna asked Jay. “Back on Mon Cal?”

Jay nodded. “Until he used it to track our target just by touching a piece of burnt rubble. Look, you two stay here, poke around, and see what else you can dig up. I'm going to go talk to Denton and see what else I can find out.”

With that, she left Brianna and the Handmaiden, heading toward the back room where the witnesses were being held. She knocked twice, until Trainee Ruusan opened the door and ushered her in. It looked like the enforcement officers were struggling to keep the situation outside the building under control; Jay could already see a crowd of _aruetii _holonet reporters gathering outside, clamoring for a statement from anyone involved.

“Ah crap,” Ruusan muttered. She gestured to the back room and said, “You head inside. I'll do what I can to keep the media vultures at bay.”

The woman stormed off, heading for the mob gathering outside. She was muttering curses the whole time, shaking her head and tucking her short hair under a military-issue cap. Jay stared after her, long enough to see her get swallowed up by the crowd, then turned into the back room.

The room looked like nothing more than a storage area for excess supplies. There were unopened supply boxes stacked along the walls, along with bags of grassgrain seed and – true to Mandalorian form – crates of ammunition and weapons. It looked like several crates had been hastily moved to provide seating for the witnesses.

There were a number of people crowded into the room: Denton and three others Jay didn't recognize. There was a Mandalorian in dull steel armor with black splashes, another with blood red armor marked with black slash marks and a blue-lit helmet visor, and a man in plain work clothes.

Denton was rubbing his eyes wearily and saying, “So you can't think of any reason for the attack, Mr. Retur'ce?”

“I keep tellin' you no!” the man in plainclothes snapped. “I'm an honest, everyday Mando. I sell farm supplies and occasionally sell weapons and ammo to the Protectors. I ain't had so much as a bad comm call from an unhappy customer!”

“There's no way this was some kind of revenge killing,” the gray-armored man muttered. “It looked to me like a mugging gone bad.”

“But nothing was taken, Mr. Aruer,” Denton sighed. “And by your reports, the victim didn't even try to take anything.”

“He wanted to kill me,” the man in plainclothes said. “He said someone had told him so. That they could reach his family.”

“Could it have been spice?” Jay asked, stepping up next to Denton and folding her arms. “You know, he was high on some drug and lost his mind?”

The man in the red armor shook his helmeted head. “Not a chance. Matt was no junkie. He knew he had too much on the line, what with his wife and kid.”

“I agree,” came Brianna's voice from the doorway. Jay turned to find the woman leaning against the doorframe, eyes narrowed distractedly. When she noticed everyone staring at her, she shook her head and muttered, “Matt used to have a drug problem, yes, but he gave it all up when he was married.”

The red-armored man cocked his head. “You knew Matt?”

“I'm a friend of his wife,” she replied. “We used to have shoot-outs at the range every weekend.”

“I...I know you, don't I?” the man said. “You're... Brianna, right? Cin Vhetin's girlfriend?”

“Ex-girlfriend,” Brianna corrected.

“Oh. Well, I'm Corey Black. I brought the Oppo Tor contract to Vhetin.”

Brianna nodded. “I remember you. You changed your kit since the last time we met.”

“Force of necessity,” was all Corey said. “So you're assisting the investigation?”

She nodded again. “I promised Lia I would help.”

Denton cleared his throat. “The reunion is nice and all, but we've still got a dead _Mando'ad_ and no answers. Mr Retur'ce, Mr. Aruer, if you can think of anything else...”

Aruer sighed. “I don't know what else to tell you, son. I just came in to buy some grassgrain seed and some random psycho bursts in and just about puts a blaster bolt through me and the shopkeeper here.”

“He's not _some random psycho_,” Brianna said heatedly. “He was a good man and a proud Mandalorian.”

“He put a gun in my face.”

Brianna was about to say more when Ruusan suddenly stuck her head through the door and said, “Um... you might want to get out here, Dral. The Echani found something.”

Jay bit back a grin and said, “I knew she would. Echani may be hard to work with, but they never let you down when you need it.”

They found the Handmaiden kneeling next to the burn mark on the ground. She was rubbing her gloved fingertips together, sniffing something. Jay touched her shoulder gently and she jumped as if startled. She looked up, then murmured, “I am glad you are here. I believe I may have found more evidence.”

“What is it?” Denton asked, cocking his head.

“There is a slight trace of a powdery substance here on the floor. I believe it came from the victim's body.”

Denton knelt next to her and traced his fingers over the floor. They came back lightly powdered with a reddish tinge. He frowned, then touched his fingers to the scanner built into his gauntlet. “I'll send this over to the labs and see what they can dig up. There may be more on the body that the morgue can look for.”

“Can I get a copy of that?” Jay asked. “I want to forward the scan to Cin and see what he can do with it. He's got information sources scattered across the galaxy. He'll be able to find out something.”

There was a tap at the door. They looked up to see an armored Mandalorian in a dark over-armor poncho knocking on the glass door of the shop. Denton let out a quiet curse and gestured to one of the other gold-armored officers. “Bren, head over there and get that idiot out of the doorway.”

Jay was about to turn back to the crime scene when something made her look closer at the man in the doorway. He was wearing dull green armor with blue trim. His poncho was dark blue as well. But the man's bulky green neck guard was what caught her gaze.

“Denton...” she said slowly.

“What?” he asked, still staring at the floor.

“Get that cop back.”

“What?”

“The man in the door,” she said. “Look at his neck.”

He looked up and squinted at the man, particularly at the collar wrapped around his neck. “Son of a bitch...”

Then he was on his feet, running for the officer heading to chase him away. “Bren! Don't open the-”

Too late; the officer pulled the door open and growled, “There's a police investigation going on here, so please-”

The man in the doorway knocked the officer back with an uppercut to the chin. He then took two steps inside and pulled off his poncho. Strapped to his chest were three belts of grenades, all of them primed and ready to detonate.

Things happened very fast from that moment on. There was a blur of white as the Handmaiden threw herself behind the counter. Brianna leaped toward the corner, where she would be best protected from the blast. Denton drew his gun and shouted, “Bomb!”

As if in slow motion, the armored man raised one hand, a detonator clasped in his fist and a grimace of pain on his face. He let out a gasp and screamed, “_Help me_!”

Then there was a silent blast of white and Jay felt herself lifted off her feet by a tremendous shockwave. She was slammed back over the counter in a shower of wood, glass, and metal. Denton vanished in a cloud of fire, and she could see the bomber for a split-second, silhouetted in black against the flames before her vision finally faded.

~~~~~~~~

The first sensation that returned was her sense of taste: a vile mixture of blood and soot in her mouth. She sucked in a pained breath and coughed out a mouthful of ash. She blinked, then dazedly wondered why her vision was red. Realizing there was blood in her eyes, she slowly reached up and wiped at a cut on her forehead.

She felt someone shake her roughly. She groaned and struggled to rise to her hands and knees. A muffled voice said, “Easy, easy. You got quite a knock over the head.”

“What...” Jay groaned. “What happened?”

The voice grew clearer, until Jay recognized that it was Trainee Ruusan speaking. “Suicide bomber. Tried to take us all out.”

Jay remembered the sudden blast of light and the way Denton had been enveloped by a cloud of fire. She gasped and sat up. “Denton! Is he all right?”

“He's fine,” Ruusan reassured her. She looked awful, covered in ash and blood and dust. Her short blond hair was almost black with soot and dirt and her face was scratched and bruised. Jay doubted her own looks were much better. “Everyone is fine, except for a few scrapes and bruises. The reporters outside took the worst of it; looks like there are more than a few casualties out there. Medics are on their way.”

Jay coughed, holding her pounding head. Her blurry vision began to clear, and she was able to make out the inside of the shop again. The floor and walls had been scorched black, the front windows shattered. There was a large crater in the floor where the booby-trapped Mandalorian had been standing and there were open fires burning everywhere. People were screaming outside, enforcement officers were scrambling to preserve crime scene evidence, and several of the reporters were lying sprawled in the street, unmoving.

Ruusan helped Jay rise gingerly to her feet. Jay nodded and thanked the woman before stumbling off and bracing herself against the scorched counter.

The Handmaiden staggered into her field of vision, her pristine white suit stained with dirt and ash. She was bleeding profusely from a wound on her shoulder and another cut on her forehead. She was blinking quickly, obviously still dazed from the blast.

“Les,” Jay gasped. “You all right?”

“I am fit for battle,” the Echani muttered, though she looked like she could barely hold her own against an enraged Jawa. “Who dared to attack us?”

Jay shook her head, wincing as the motion caused her head to throb dangerously. “I don't know. Head out and give the enforcement officers a hand. Paramedics should be here soon.”

Brianna appeared next, limping up from one corner with Corey Black and Kardai Aruer. She was holding her side and had a bruise forming on her forehead, but she looked otherwise fine. She was cursing and shaking her head.

“What do you mean there's none of it left?” she snapped. “There has to be something. Blood, gore, body bits... people don't just explode without leaving a trace!”

“Whoever that guy was,” Black was saying, “he used some kind of high-grade incendiary explosive. He was burned to a crisp.”

“What about his armor? _Beskar'gam_ doesn't melt. It should still be here.”

“Unless he had that shitty new durasteel stuff,” Kardai growled. “Looks like _beskar'gam_ for a fraction of the cost. That would have gone up like a match under that kind of heat.”

“And what about the evidence we found?” Brianna snapped. “The powder or the burn scars?”

“Nothing.”

She ran a hand through her hair and snapped, “_Damn_ it!”

Denton came storming out of the back room, armor burned and blackened. He looked otherwise fine, however; his armor must have taken the force out of the explosion. He saw Jay and hurried over, a relieved smile stretching across his face. He pulled her into a tight hug and murmured, “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she sighed. “You?”

“Battered and bruised, but okay,” he held her at arm's length, looking her up and down. “You don't look too worse for wear.”

She let out an exhausted chuckle and wiped ash from her eyes. “Liar.”

“Officer Dral?” Ruusan said. “We've got the enforcement office on comms. They want to know what the hell just happened.”

He turned to the woman and said, “Tell them we're up to our asses in casualties and wounded here. We need those paramedics here as quick as they can manage. Tell them to put up a barricade around the block and keep any more civilians from getting in here. We don't know how many more of those suicide bombers are out there.”

He turned back to Jay and squeezed her shoulders. “I need you to send the information we scanned to your buddy Vhetin. We need to know what the hell just happened. Can you do that for me?”

She nodded. “I'm on it. I'll transmit it as soon as I can.”

He shook his head. “No. I want you to take it to him personally. Head up to MandalMotors, tell him what's happening.”

“What? But after what just-”

“I need to make absolutely sure the data gets there,” Denton said. “I don't know what that bomber was trying to pull, but it looks a hell of a lot like he was trying to eliminate the evidence. We can't afford to let what we have go up in smoke.”

He sighed. “Besides, if there are people wandering around with bombs strapped to their chests, I want you as far away from this place as possible. Can you do that? For me?”

She bit her lip. She didn't want to leave, not when it was so dangerous for her friends. But Denton had a point; they had to make sure the data got to Vhetin. So she grudgingly nodded and said, “I'll take it to Cin. But if anything happens, I want you to call me right away.”

He nodded, then stepped away and followed Ruusan out the door, rushing to help other officers care for the wounded until the paramedics showed up

Jay was about to follow him outside and head for MandalMotors when the Handmaiden jogged up. Her dirty, bruised face was turned down in a furious scowl.

“Moqena,” she snapped. “I have something to show you.”

Jay frowned and stepped closer. “What have you found?”

“I was trying to look over the scene and estimate what was affected by the blast. If evidence was damaged, Justicar Dral would need to be informed. But when I searched the cache of evidence, it was gone!”

“Wait, wait,” Jay said. “Slow down. What was gone?”

“The collar taken from the original victim!” the Handmaiden snapped. “The same collar the bomber was wearing!”

“Okay,” Jay said calmly. “Take a breath, Les. We still have the scans Denton took, right? We can take that to Vhetin?”

“The projector was damaged by the blast,” the Echani muttered. “Much of the data was corrupted. All that is left is a preliminary scan of both the collar and the powdery substance. The victim's autopsy, the witness testimonies... it is all gone.”

Jay sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Then she held out a hand. “Give me the projector. Corrupted or no, it'll still have information Vhetin can use.”

“But what happened to the first collar?”

Jay shook her head. “I don't know. Was it destroyed?”

“Unlikely. There was no sign of shrapnel or debris. If I had to guess, I would say someone had taken it.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. “Then maybe it wasn't stolen. Check with the other enforcement officers and see if anyone moved it. Maybe someone just transferred it out of the blast zone.”

Handmaiden looked at the Mandalorians hurrying around the shop and narrowed her pale blue eyes. “If it is missing... one of the Justicars may have taken it for personal gain. Worse, they may be working with the being orchestrating these attacks. If so, there are few here we can trust.”

“Reign in the paranoia, Les,” Jay said, holding up her hands in a placating gesture. “You can trust me, you can trust Brianna, and you can trust Denton. That's three on our side already. Keep poking around here; I'm going to head down to MandalMotors and get this info to Cin and Janada.”

The Handmaiden nodded slowly. “Please make haste. I have no wish to spend time alone with these barbarians. And if there are traitors in our midst, our chances of surviving future encounters are drastically reduced.”

Jay put a hand on her shoulder. “Just play nice. I'll send word to D'harhan and get him down here. That should stop anyone who wants to mess with you.”

“So I shall be alone with a horde of Mandalorians and a brutish walking explosive device,” the Echani muttered, rolling her eyes. “I am very comforted.”

Jay nodded with a slight smile, then turned and strode out the door, looking for a taxi. As she walked, she passed by the bodies of ten or twelve HoloNet reporters that had been killed by the blast. She stared at them for a moment, then sighed and shook her head.

Les had said guessed someone was behind all these attacks, and the Echani rarely guessed wrong. If what she said was true, the culprit had no problem killing innocents to cover his tracks. And whoever it was had the ability to use battle-hardened Mandalorians as weapons.

Jay wasn't too proud to admit that the thought scared her in a way few things could.


	6. Tech Magic at MandalMotors

**MandalMotors Tower, Keldabe City Center**

Janada led Vhetin away from the main entrance of MandalMotors Tower, to a much smaller building connected to the base of the massive rust-red skyscraper. They passed by several holographic signs that read – in both Basic and _Mando'a_ – that trespassers were not welcome and would be prosecuted with extreme prejudice.

Vhetin didn't blame the intensity of the warning. MandalMotors was the planet's leading hypernautics company, responsible for more than half of the local government's revenue. A company of such vast importance to the economy could not afford to have lax security. Industrial espionage, especially concerning MandalMotors, was punishable by exile or death.

Janada paid the signs no mind, however, and led him straight to a heavy blast door with the same _keep-out_ warnings as before. She stepped up to the heavy durasteel door and pounded a fist against the surface. The echoing _boom, boom, boom_ seemed loud enough to alert everyone in the tower, let alone those in the R&D department.

“Hey!” she shouted. “Open up!”

There was silence for a few moments, then a voice from the other side of the door said, “Bralor? Is that you?”

“It's me, _di'kut_. Open up!”

“I thought you were still in the Imp-hole.”

“Upside of having a little brother who's richer than a Hutt on spice,” Janada said. “I got out this afternoon.”

“What're you doing back so soon?”

“I love my job,” Janada replied easily, her voice edged with sarcasm. “Can you let me in now, or do you have any other dumb questions to ask?”

There was a pause, then a loud _clank_. The door rumbled open, revealing a Mando in oil-stained, rust red coveralls. He scratched his bald head, then shrugged and muttered, “Whatever. R-and-D is waiting for you anyway. You've got a visitor. And boy is she pissed at you.”

Janada stepped through the door with a small smile, heading straight down a short hallway leading further into the building. “Good. Nice to know she could call the cops or ask around where I've been, but she just decides to come here and hang out at my job.”

The guard chuckled and stepped aside to let them pass.

Vhetin stepped up the pace and caught up with Janada. “So do you really think you'll be able to figure out what kind of collar was used in that crime scene?”

“Only one way to find out,” Janada said with a shrug. “But chances are good that if it has any tech from the Clone Wars onward, I'll be able to recognize it.”

“You seem very confident,” he observed. “Are you sure you aren't overestimating your skills just a little?”

“Yes.”

Vhetin smiled and let the matter rest. He knew Janada would do her best to identify the tech used. She had always had a talent for mechanical problems. She had one of the best technical minds he'd ever encountered and had a talent with machines he could only dream of. If there was anyone who could find the origins of the collar, it would be her.

“So how have you been?” Vhetin asked. “You've obviously been trying to stay out of trouble.”

Janada laughed. “I've been good. Working hard, keeping busy. Glad to not have a crazy younger brother pestering me all the time.”

He snorted. “I missed you too, _vod_.”

“I'm actually interested in your new equipment request. You really spent the last three months designing new armor in your cell?”

He nodded. “There wasn't much else to do. And you had to keep busy or run the risk of driving yourself insane.”

She brought them to a stop, folding her arms and leaning against the wall. She hesitated, thinking for a few moments. Then she looked up at him and said, “Cin... I know I can sometimes seem a little... callous. But I was worried about you. When I first heard the Imps had taken you down, I wanted to hunt down each and every one of those sadistic kriffers and kill 'em in the slowest, most painful way I know how.”

Vhetin nodded. “I know, Janada.”

She shook her head. “I... just wanted you to know that. I never gave up on you.”

He smiled and put a hand on his sister's shoulder. “Out of everyone in my life, I know I can always count on you to have faith in me.”

She nodded. “And when I heard that Brianna had thrown in the towel... sorry, Cin, but I wanted to beat the living daylights out of her.”

“Probably not the best idea,” Vhetin said. “You just got out of jail. Let's give it a few months before someone has to cart you back in there.”

She smiled. “Deal.”

She grasped his forearm in a traditional Mando handshake. “It's damn good to have you back, little bro.”

He nodded. “Damn good to be back.”

She cleared her throat and seemed to regain a little more of her composure. “Now let's check on the R-and-D department. I'd be surprised if they didn't blow something up while I was gone.”

They reached the end of the hallway, which was blocked off by a heavy blast door marked _EMPLOYEES ONLY. _Janada pulled an identification card out of a pouch on her belt and held it up to the reader mounted next to the door. The reader scanned the card, then beeped and unlocked the door.

The door led into one of Vhetin's favorite areas of MandalMotors: the special Research-and-Development wing. It was a spacious room, packed from wall to wall with research stations and works-in-progress. Technicians – Mandalorian and _aruetii_ alike – hurried about the room, working hard on their specific projects. Sparks danced across the permacrete floor and the air was acrid with smoke and ion burn. Illuminators hanging from durasteel chains dangled overhead, casting warm yellow light across the manufacturing floor and giving the area a bright, safe look. Vhetin knew that it was anything but safe inside, however. Next to the main door was a holographic readout displaying the number of days since the last workshop accident. In twenty years, the display had never climbed above single digit numbers.

Janada spread her arms, closed her eyes, and took a deep, long breath. She then shook her head and said, “Shit I missed this place. And I've only been gone a week.”

She then opened her eyes and said, “I guess this is a homecoming for the both of us, huh?”

Vhetin nodded. “In a manner of speaking. Let's get to your station.”

They made their way slowly through the construction floor, careful not to disturb the ebb and flow of work. It was not easy; there were equipment speeders racing back and forth, technicians darting from station to station, and overseers ambling back and forth across the area. Technicians dressed in dark red overalls called orders to each other, threw equipment requests to one another, or shouted curses at malfunctioning equipment. The warehouse teemed with movement, sound, and life, and Vhetin found it strangely exhilarating.

“So,” Janada said, swerving to avoid an equipment speeder laden with crates of wiring, “what exactly did you have in mind when you were designing new armor?”

Vhetin chuckled. “What didn't I have in mind? Three months in captivity, you start grasping at every straw you can think of.”

“Can you think of any to start?”

He nodded. “I want a melee weapon. Preferably on my person.”

“You have a _beskad_. You just don't use it.”

He shook his helmeted head. “No, not a sword. I'm talking about something that's actually part of my armor. Preferably something small, retractable. My designs are similar to those old gauntlet blades Republic Commandos used to pack.”

Janada pondered over this for a moment. “Small, easy to use, compact and easy to hide... Not exactly the usual equipment request from you, _vod_.”

“I'm not planning on using it as a primary weapon,” Vhetin said. “My saber pike is more than adequate. But I'd like something to use as a backup in case I'm disarmed. I'm tired of having to defend against enemies with my armor and my bare hands.”

Janada reflected for a few moments more, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. After a time, her eyes lit up and she nodded with a smile. “You know what? I think we have just the thing.”

She led him over to a station near the south-eastern corner of the room, where a man with long, stringy hair and heavy welding goggles was working on upgrading some kind of blaster. Janada folded her arms with a grin and said, “Hey Dantori?”

The man didn't answer and continued welding away. The steady stutter of his welding torch was obviously affecting his hearing. Janada sighed, then shook her head and shouted, “Dantori! Open your damned ears!”

When he still didn't answer, Janada picked up a heavy restraining bolt and threw it at him. The metal bolt hit the man in the side of the head, making him flinch and curse. He yanked his goggles off, looking around through bleary eyes for his attacker.

“What the bloody hell are you doin' Bralor?” the man indignantly cried. “Tryin' to brain me?”

“I need to take a look at Prototype A-fourteen. The melee unit.”

“Kriff, woman,” Dantori snapped. He held a hand to the side of his head, rubbing his face and scowling. “Nice to see you too. Thought you were in jail.”

“Just got out.”

“And now you're right back to it, eh?”

“Right back to it,” Janada echoed. “I'm a workaholic at heart. Are you gonna give me the prototype or no?”

The man scowled, pulled open a drawer and pulled out what looked like a standard, blue-painted Mandalorian gauntlet. Janada thanked him, then beckoned Vhetin closer. She grinned mischievously and said, “I think you're gonna love this.”

She turned the gauntlet in her hands, the reflective blue metal shining in the overhead lights. “Looks like any other gauntlet, right?”

“I guess.”

“Wrong,” she said. “This design is based on the tech of a Mando weaponsmith who was commissioned by an _aruetii_ _kyramud_, an assassin. This assassin didn't like using blasters or projectiles during his contracts and wanted something a little stealthier.”

“So?”

She pulled off her own red-painted gauntlet and tossed it to him. Then she slipped the new armor piece over her wrist, adjusting it so it sat comfortably on her forearm. Once done, she held it up for him to see.

“It's only a few kilos heavier than your normal piece,” she said. “Takes a little getting used to, but it won't slow you down in combat if you know how to use it right.”

“Okay, so what's so special about it? What brings the extra weight?”

Janada grinned and clenched a fist. At some unseen signal from her armor, a hand-length melee knife shaped like an oblong diamond sprang from the top of the armor piece, sliding out of its housing with a metallic _shink_. Vhetin jumped slightly, surprised. Janada laughed at his reaction, shaking the bladed gauntlet in his face.

“All the guy would have to do,” she explained, sheathing the blade, then extending it again, “is put a hand on his target, blink at an icon on his HUD, and this blade would cut right through his target's throat. Quick, easy, stealthy.”

“Impressive as it is, I was thinking of something a little more... substantial,” Vhetin said. “I can't block a vibroblade with that little thing.”

“Ah, but that's the beauty of it,” she laughed. “Our friend the assassin reasoned along similar lines. So he requested this...”

Another button and the blade sprang out again, now almost twice the previous length. It looked as if the full length of the blade rested inside the entire length of the gauntlet, wrist to elbow. It could almost be considered an arm-mounted sword now. If used in duplicate, with an identical blade on his other arm, the weapon would be extremely useful in combat.

He nodded. “Consider me impressed.”

“Oh but that's not all. This way.”

She led him to another crate inside Dantori's station and pulled it open. Inside was an armored chest piece, obviously still in production. It had manufacturing stickers plastered across its surface and it hadn't even been painted yet. But unlike a typical Mandalorian breastplate, which sported three segmented plates, this piece seemed to be made of interlocking triangular sheets of _beskar _that roughly made up the more traditional shape Vhetin was used to.

Janada shook the piece for emphasis. “Eh? You like?”

He grimaced. “I'm not sure. Plate separation leaves a hunter vulnerable to melee attacks. You know that.”

“Yeah.” Janada sighed in exasperation. “But if we attach the chest piece to a heavy leather flak vest, you get twice as much maneuverability with almost as much damage protection. Just try it for a bit and see how you like it.”

“Let me... let me think over it for a bit,” he said. “I mean, it's not even my color scheme.”

“Oh stuff it,” Janada scoffed. She shoved the armor plating toward him. “Just try it. If you don't like it, you can chuck it right back where it came from.”

He sighed. “Okay. I'll try it.”

“There's a good boy,” his sister said. She tossed him the chest piece, then folded her arms expectantly.

He sighed again, then unbuckled his armored flak vest. He pulled it off and set it on the table next to him. When he picked up the new chest piece, he found it to be far lighter than he had thought. He had to admit, he was impressed by the rock-hard strength, yet surprising flexibility of the interlocking plates. He quickly slipped into the vest, Janada helping him buckle it up the sides. Once it was sitting comfortably on his shoulders, he began testing his range of movement. He stretched, arching his back and rotating his shoulders. He then bent forward, reaching down and touching his boots.

“Very good,” he said, straightening again. “I like it.”

“Don't forget the gauntlets.”

“Janada...”

“Put the damn gauntlets on,” she snapped. “I have more to show you.”

“More off-color, half-finished tech?”

She grinned. “Got it in one. This way.”

Vhetin quickly swapped out gauntlets, picking up his discarded armor and carrying it with him. He swerved to avoid a Mando on a tall ladder, putting the final cosmetic touches on a SkyRaptor fighter. Sparks bounced off his helmet, then faded as he passed by.

“You're in luck,” Janada said. “R-and-D has been working almost non-stop on new armor designs. Some new project _Mand'alor_ has been pushing through.”

“Shysa's got a secret project?”

“You could call it that,” Janada said with a shrug. “He just wanted us to start researching new armor designs and weaponry. Not surprising, coming from him. Shysa likes our new toys almost as much as you do. And since you're my little bro, I've decided to give you full access to all our prototypes.”

“Generous of you.”

“Being adopted by me does have its perks.”

“I appreciate it, Janada,” he said honestly. “I wouldn't be half the bounty hunter I am without your tech.”

“That's bullshit and we both know it,” she replied matter-of-factly. “But thanks anyway. Besides, I wouldn't get too excited. Some of our stuff is still untested. Could blow up in your face.”

“Ah.”

“Most of it is fine.”

“Most of it.”

Janada moved to step into an intersection, then threw out a hand as a speeder cart raced toward her. The driver slammed on the vehicle's brakes, bringing the speeder skidding to a halt. She scowled and snapped, “Watch it, _osik'kov_!”

The man responded with an equally vile curse, adding a rude hand gesture to the mix as well. Janada rolled her eyes and gestured for Vhetin to hurry up.

“R-and-D seems busier than usual,” Vhetin observed as the angry driver sped past them.

“Part of that secret project I told you about.”

Vhetin chuckled. “And here I was thinking they had all turned out to welcome you back.”

Next on the list was a pair of thigh plates with built-in sheaths for ammunition packs. After that came two bicep guards wrapped with belts of throwing knives. Then came an up-armored rocket pack, with extra fuel packs and thicker armor plating. Finally, Janada held out a blue-white helmet.

“No,” Vhetin said. “No, no, I'm not giving up my bucket.”

Janada scowled at him. “Come on, Stripes. It's got scanners twice as strong as your normal kit, doubled cranial protection, and a scanner system that rivals most military gear. And...”

She pulled the helmet over her head. There was a slight pause, then there was a bright flash and the visor began to glow red. Moments later, it flashed blue. Then green. Then purple. Then a deep amber color.

“Infrared, “Janada said as the visor cycled colors. “Sonar. Night vision. Ultraviolet. And finally deep scanning.”

“My old helmet did most of that already,” Vhetin said. “And it didn't light up like a Nar Shadda brothel when it did.”

“You can shut down the visor glow if you want. But it's sometimes useful for scare tactics and intimidation. Food for thought at least.”

“Right. Anything else?”

“Oh yeah.” There was suddenly a deep _chack-chack_ and the visor itself slid up into the helmet's housing. It separated into three parts, the horizontal strip sliding upward into the forehead and the vertical bar splitting in half and sliding into either side of the visor's trim. Janada, face now revealed, raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“Aren't you tired of your HUD overloading all the time?” Janada said. She gestured to the open visor. “Sputtering out when you get hit with an overcharged ion bolt and leaving you completely senseless? Meet MandalMotors' solution.”

“Sounds like you read that straight out of the holocommercial,” Vhetin said with a chuckle. “_Vod_, I don't think I will ever need that. You know how I am about keeping my face out of the public's attention.”

“At least try it,” Janada said. With a quiet _shink_ the visor pieces slid seamlessly back together, transforming once again into the tinted death-helm of the Mandalorian battle helmet. Pulling it off her head, she said, “There are more upgrades on the way, so it would be good to keep it. At least for now.”

Vhetin reluctantly accepted, swapping out his helmet for the new one. Once done, he looked down at his new armor: a collection of blue, white, steel gray, and black. There were manufacturing stickers and warning signs covering every piece of armor.

“I look like a kriffing circus clown,” he sighed. “Can't you at least paint it first?”

“It's a prototype suit,” Janada sighed. “Most of these systems haven't even been tested together before. If you like it, you can buy it and have it custom painted later.”

Vhetin was about to say more when Janada looked over her shoulder, then sighed, “Well _osik_.”

Standing further down the aisle was a young girl, no older than fifteen. She had the same square face, dark hair, and brown eyes as Janada; the family resemblance was unmistakable. She was sitting on the edge of a workbench, holding a hand-held datapad with a frown on her face.

“Now I'm in for it,” Janada muttered. She took a deep breath, forced a smile on her face, and stepped toward the girl. She knelt, resting her arms on her knees and cocking her head to one side.

“Hi there, Tran,” she said with a smile. “What are you doing sitting on my desk?”

The girl was silent, tapping away at her pad.

“Did you miss me?”

Silence.

Janada's smile faltered, then returned. “If you'd look up from your pad, you'd see that Stripes is back too.”

“You missed dinner,” the girl finally said. “I made your favorite. Nuna strips.”

Janada sighed. “Yeah. I'm sorry about that. But I'll thoroughly enjoy the leftovers.”

“There aren't any,” the girl said. “That dinner was four days ago.”

“Oh.”

She looked up from her datapad now, gaze full of anger. “You also missed my school performance. We reenacted the Battle of Pakarius, where _Mand'alor_ the Dark defeated the Republic armies trying to conquer us. I was Makeshia, the Saber-Maiden.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You promised you would be there, Jan. You _promised_!”

“I know, I know,” Janada sighed, taking the girl's hand. “And I'm sorry, Tranyc. I wanted to go. I would have given anything to have gone. But the Imps screwed up our plans again.”

“That's not what I heard,” Tranyc said, setting aside her datapad. “I heard you picked a fight with an Imperial and that's why they carted you off to Bone City.”

“I... well, I did. But they tried to take Dad's _kad'ikase_. I couldn't let that happen. You know that.”

The girl turned her head away. “I guess.”

Janada took the girl's other hand. “Hey. Hey, I'll make it up to you. I promise.”

“Like you promised last time?”

“Not like last time.”

Tranyc narrowed her dark brown eyes. “Swear it.”

Janada nodded without hesitation. “I swear on Mom and Dad's names I'll make it up to you.”

The girl held her gaze for a few moments, then nodded. “All right. On Mom and Dad's names.”

Janada nodded with a smile and stood, brushing hair out of her eyes. She gestured to Vhetin and said, “And aren't you forgetting something? Don't be rude to your favorite bounty hunter.”

Tranyc looked up at Vhetin and wrinkled her nose. “Uncle Stripes? You look different.”

“A temporary change while I'm upgrading armor,” Vhetin said with a smile. “It's nice to see you again, Tranyc.”

The girl nodded. “Nice to see you too. Everyone thought you were dead.”

“Glad to prove them wrong. How have you been?”

She shrugged and picked up her datapad again. “Jan still won't let me join the Protectors, no matter how much I want to.”

“You and I both know that you aren't ready for the Protectors,” Janada said. “Vanto didn't make it through the last deployment and he had five years of training on you.”

“Vanto was a fat, ugly, slob,” Tranyc said. “I'm amazed they even let him into the Protectors.”

“Have more respect for your _vode_,” Janada snapped, her voice suddenly very stern. “You may not have liked him, but he was a Bralor. That makes him family.”

Tranyc scowled at her older sister, then finally relented. “Fine. I'm sorry.”

“You can't join Shysa and the Protectors,” Janada said. “And that's final.”

“I'm fifteen years old!” Tranyc exclaimed indignantly. “I have the choice to join at _ten_!”

“Tranyc,” Janada sighed, “we've been over this before...”

Vhetin was more than happy to leave the sisters to their bickering. He was about to check out a new _beskad_ design he saw nearby when he heard a commotion from somewhere else in the warehouse, near the door. He frowned behind his helmet and made his way across the manufacturing floor.

As he drew closer, he discovered that someone without authorization was trying to get into the R&D department. There were two red-armored security guards arguing with the intruder, rifles drawn and charged. Vhetin was content to leave the argument to the guards until he recognized the voice of the dirty, ash-stained figure fighting with them.

“Let me through!” the woman was shouting. “I need to get in here now!”

One of the security officers – known throughout the city as Tower Guards – threw an arm out and blocked her approach. He shoved her back and growled, “Stay back, _aruetii_. This place is off-limits to everyone but the engineers. Back off now.”

Vhetin pushed his way through the crowd gathering around them. “Jay? What are you doing here?”

“Cin?” Jay squinted at him, not recognizing his new armor.

He nodded reassuringly. “It's me.”

She let out a long, relieved breath and wiped ash from her face. “Thank the Emperor that I found you.”

“Watch your language,” one of the Tower Guards growled. “Imp talk like that will get you thrown out even quicker.”

“Okay,” Vhetin said, holding up a calming hand. “Calm down, everyone. Guards, she's with me.”

The Tower Guards eyed Jay suspiciously, then shook their heads and stalked off. “She tries to pull anything, it's on you,” one of them snapped.

Jay half-staggered forward, almost looking as if she was about to collapse from relief. Vhetin caught her shoulder and said, “_Osik_, Jay, what happened to you?”

She swallowed, grimacing as if the motion was painful, and wiped ash from her face again. She only managed to smear it further across her face. “Suicide bomber... tried to take out the crime scene.”

“Kriff,” Vhetin cursed. Brianna had been there, investigating with the others. “Is everyone okay?”

“A few officers were killed in the blast,” she said, leaning against the wall. She had a deep cut down her calf and was bleeding profusely. “A bunch of reporters were also hit.”

“And Denton?”

“He's fine. He's pissed, but he's fine.”

“Any idea who was responsible?”

“No,” she said, holding her leg. “Damn it... everything was going fine, then the whole place was blown sky-high.”

“And the evidence?”

“Destroyed,” she said with a wince. She held up a holorecorder in one hand. “But we managed to save most of the scans Denton took. We also found some kind of powdery substance on the floor. We've got the chemical scans of that too.”

He nodded, then gestured to her leg. “And you're sure you're okay?”

She nodded. “It's just a scratch. I'll be fine.”

“Then let's get this stuff to Janada. She's itching to get her hands on some of this tech.”

Janada and Tranyc were still arguing when they got back, but both women stopped mid-sentence when they saw the state Jay was in. Janada raised her eyebrows and said, “Wow, girl. You sure know how to party.”

Jay grimaced, holding her back as she eased herself into a nearby chair. “Yeah. I had the time of my life. You should join us next time.”

“What happened to you?” Tranyc asked, eyes wide.

Jay quickly brought the two up to speed on everything that had happened. While doing so, Vhetin pulled a roll of adhesive bandages from his belt and handed it to her. She gratefully accepted and began tightly binding her wounded leg. Janada listened intently, brows furrowed in concentration, while Tranyc's brown eyes darted between her sister, Jay, and Vhetin so quickly that she looked like she was trying to follow a flitterbee buzzing around her head.

When Jay finished by reporting that the original device had gone missing, Janada sighed and rubbed her forehead. “But you managed to keep your scans of the thing, right?”

Jay nodded and handed her the miniature holorecorder. With the push of a button, the floating holographic scan of the collar device was floating in the air before them, rotating slowly.

Janada set the projector on the desk between them, then folded her arms and stared at the hologram intently. “Well, I don't know just what it is off the top of my head.”

“Really?” Vhetin said, skeptical. “You have to know something.”

“I do know that it wasn't just a collar,” Janada said. She scooped up the holoprojector again. “Here. I'll show you.”

She led them through the room, around busy workstations and arguing technicians. She was almost run over by a massive wheeled loadlifter droid carrying crates of scrap metal, but she managed to hop nimbly out of the way before the large treaded wheels crushed her.

Finally, after stopping to let Janada yell at a negligent engineer that had almost burned Tranyc in a shower of white-hot sparks, they emerged into a round, clear area at the center of the R&D lab. There were several Mandalorian and _aruetii _engineers scattered around the area, laying out holographic blueprints on the floor for all to see or just chatting casually. In the middle of this arena was a large, round holoprojector, currently powered down. There was a green-grey Mandalorian typing into the projector's console and when Janada saw him, her face broke into a grin.

“Hey there, Baldie,” she said as she approached. She tapped the man on his bald head, then leaned against the projector next to him.

The man turned with a scowl and Vhetin was surprised to see that it was Ume'o Eruk, one of the senior engineers at MandalMotors and Vhetin's personal armorsmith. He was rarely seen in the R-and-D department; too chaotic, he claimed. If he was down here now, Shysa's so-called “Secret Project” must be more important than Janada's earlier nonchalance let on.

“I've told you not to call me that, Bralor,” he growled, slowly turning back to the holoprojector. “What do you want?”

“I need to use the Amy.”

“I'm using it,” Ume'o snapped. “Come back later.”

“It's important.”

“So's this.”

“It's police business.”

That got the man's attention. His head snapped up and he narrowed his eyes. “What the hell did you get yourself into this time?”

“Nothing!” Janada replied indignantly. “I mean, yeah, I just got out of jail, but this time it isn't about me.”

Vhetin jumped in before his sister made matters worse for herself. “I've been asked to offer assistance with a police investigation. We have a piece of tech we need to identify. Janada volunteered to help.”

Ume'o sighed and shook his head. “You do realize you're supposed to be working, right Bralor?”

“I know,” Janada replied. “But this is way more fun. Besides, imagine all the publicity MandalMotors will get if we end up solving this case. Think about the headlines: _MANDALMOTORS CENTRAL TO SOLVING MURDER. PROVES THEY'RE NOT JUST A BUNCH OF GREASE MONKEYS.”_

Ume'o pondered over that, then shook his head. “All right, fine. The Amy is all yours. Just remember that you do actually work here. Don't get distracted by some high-flung suicide mission your _vod_ is getting himself tangled up in.”

Vhetin inclined his head. “I'm not sure whether to be flattered or insulted, Ume'o.”

“Try neither,” the bald man growled. “Don't bother any other engineers while you're working.”

He stalked off, tipping his head to Jay and muttering, “Moqena.”

Jay nodded back. “Always a pleasure, Ume'o.”

She then turned back to Janada and folded her arms. “So what is this? Some kind of scanner?”

“This is the heart of MandalMotors R-and-D, the Advanced Image Manipulation Interface. AIMI, for short.”

“Image manipulation?” Jay echoed. “What does that mean?”

“See for yourself,” Janada said. She plugged the tiny holotransmitter into the housing of the larger projector and typed in a few commands. There was a bright flash of light, then the holographic scan of the metallic collar sprang to life over the projector. A few more commands and the hologram floated down to eye-level between their group. Jay's eyes widened when Janada reached out, calmly grabbed the hologram, and began turning it over in her hands, studying it closely.

“What the hell?” Jay said. “How did you do that?”

Janada laughed and tossed the holographic collar to Jay, who instinctively reached out and caught it. Her fingers passed straight through the projection, but the hologram reacted as if she had caught a solid object. She held up the holo-collar, turning it and passing it from hand to hand.

“It's made of experimental holographic reaction tech,” Janada explained. “There are special readers set through this entire central area that read your motions and alter the hologram to react accordingly.”

“I'm surprised the Imperials don't have tech like this.”

Vhetin laughed. “Where do you think MandalMotors got it?”

“What, you mean they... they stole it?”

Janada raised an eyebrow. “Just between us, MandalMotors has an entire task force charged with undercover industrial espionage. We got ahold of this tech a couple years ago while the Imps still had it in beta. They canned the project, wasting millions of taxpayer credits. We improved and implemented it and its been the foundation of the R-and-D department ever since. Is that so bad?”

“I guess not,” Jay said, tossing the holo-collar back to Janada. “So work your magic. What can you tell us from this?”

Janada turned the collar over once more in her hands, then spread her hands and watched as the collar fragmented into pieces that floated, slowly rotating, in the air. She studied the flickering holograms for a few moments, rubbing her chin slowly. Jay glanced between Vhetin and the engineer quickly, looking caught between fascination at the holographic interface and impatience while waiting for Janada's answer. Vhetin let his sister work at her own pace; she'd find something, he was sure of it.

Sure enough, Janada eventually nodded to herself and said, “Okay, so I can now safely say it's a modified, up-armored electro-shock collar. See the power pack there? That was designed and surgically implanted to send charged electro-static shocks straight into the wearer's spinal column, causing maximum pain with minimal biological damage.”

“So why would our collar-wearers need such advanced restraints? I mean, this isn't the most subtle piece of equipment out there.”

Janada shook her head. “Not my department. You just wanted me to figure out what it was.”

“Anything else?”

Janada narrowed her eyes, then reached out and grabbed one of the rotating holo-collar pieces. She drew her hands apart and the hologram stretched, growing until it was three times its original size. She tapped one boxy section of the fragment, which began to glow red.

“See that?” she said. “I don't get that.”

“What is it?”

“It's a wave-length hypertransmitter,” Janada said. “This is the kind of tech used on high-grade military communications units.”

“Why would someone rig a transmitter to an electroshock collar?” Tranyc asked, cocking her head.

“I don't know,” Janada murmured, shaking her head. “But it looks like that transmitter was surgically implanted right into the auditory nerve. Whoever was speaking through the transmitter would have been all but talking right in the wearer's head.”

“Whoever put those collars on wanted to send out orders without being heard or intercepted,” Vhetin said, half to himself. “Its obvious these hits were premeditated. And whoever did the premeditating would have needed some way to ensure his assassins did their jobs right.”

“What, so he was controlling them?” Jay said skeptically.

Vhetin nodded. “Giving them orders and monitoring them through the collar's sensors. If they did something he didn't like, he'd give them a shock, like training a strill.”

“That's disgusting,” Tranyc said.

“But it would explain the way Matt died,” Jay said slowly, rubbing her chin. “Convulsions, screaming even though no one was hurting him...”

Janada nodded as well. “Not a great leap forward in the investigation, but it's progress.”

“Can you tell us who made this collar?” Vhetin asked.

Janada moved the holo-collar piece from hand to hand, studying it closely. Eventually she sighed and shook her head, slowly reassembling the flickering holograms until they formed the full collar once more. “No way to tell like this. I'll check into manufacturing techniques, but I don't know if I'll find anything. If you want quicker results, get me a real collar.”

“I'll keep an eye out,” Vhetin said darkly. “I get the feeling we're going to be seeing a lot more of these before long.”

“Good. Anything else you need from me?” Janada said, tossing the hologram over her shoulder. It spun to a hovering halt in the center of the projector behind her, then flickered out.

Jay nodded. “We also found traces of a powdery substance on the collar. We managed to take chemical scans before the evidence was destroyed.”

“Pull it up,” Janada said, gesturing to the projector. “My chemistry is a little rusty, but the Amy is still your best shot at identifying it.”

Jay quickly stepped toward the machine and typed in a few hurried commands. A new hologram flickered to life now; not a machine this time, but a complex molecular structure Vhetin didn't recognize.

Jay stepped back, gesturing to the hologram. “It was obviously organic, but I don't know what it is off the top of my head.”

Janada stared at the holo, a tight look coming to her face. She put a hand on Tranyc's shoulder and murmured, “Go find Uncle Ume'o, Tran. Make sure he's not yelling at anyone who doesn't deserve it. If the person does deserve it, feel free to point and laugh.”

“But I want to stay!” the girl objected.

“Now, _vod'ika_,” Janada said, her tone leaving no room for argument. Her sister glared at her, then let out an explosive sigh and stomped off across the manufacturing floor.

Vhetin, meanwhile, was staring at the chemical readout floating in the air above him, taking scans and recordings so he could file the information in his HUD systems for later study. He narrowed his eyes as the readings scrolled across his holographic HUD screen, then shook his head. “I don't recognize it. Some kind of manufactured compound, but I can't tell what it does.”

He pulled a miniature datapad from his belt and began typing into it. “I'll send a message to some contacts of mine. It might take a while, but they'll find out what this is.”

“No need,” Janada said. “It's Red Spice.”

Vhetin and Jay both paused, staring at the woman for a few long moments. Jay raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“And... how do you know that?” she asked slowly.

“The mixture of tetrachloridium and savortium enzymes,” Janada said, pointing to the hologram. “I'd recognize them anywhere. Those are the two active ingredients of Red Spice.”

Jay stared at the engineer with surprise and a bit of suspicion. “You um... your chemistry doesn't seem as rusty as you thought.”

Janada sighed. “Okay, so maybe I used to have a little bit of a drug problem. Or... maybe more than a little one.”

“What happened?” Jay asked.

“I got to a really bad place. Low unlike any kind of low you've ever seen before. I'd do anything for another spike, at least until I got caught in an Imperial raid while the Imps were working with the enforcement office to clean up the city drug trade. I spent about a year in prison when I was caught dealing, but when I was still using I ran across Red Spice a couple times. Nasty drug.”

Vhetin had known about his sister's drug problem but had rarely heard her speak so openly about it before. It had been before his time on Mandalore and she had never seemed comfortable talking about it. He, who knew better than anyone the importance of a private personal history, had never pressed the matter.

“What are the effects?” he eventually asked.

“Starts off pretty good,” Janada said with a shrug. “You get a little light headed, fingers get tingly. Kind of like getting a buzz off alcohol. You get feelings of happiness and extreme comfort. Really good for if you're having a bad day, you know?”

She sighed. “But after a while, the light-headedness turns to outright dementia and the tingling turns to pain. You start hallucinating, you can't control your bodily functions, your motor control goes out the window. Your internal temperature skyrockets, causing fever and aches. I don't even know half the other symptoms, but I know that repeated use is really bad for your brain. It literally turns the inside of your skull to soup after a few months.”

“Okay,” Jay said slowly. “So it's obviously not a light-end drug.”

“No it's not,” Janada said, shaking her head vehemently. “It's highly addictive and very dangerous. As you can imagine, operating with only a quarter of your brain opens you up to some... fairly primitive behavior.”

“Violent behavior?” Vhetin inquired.

Janada nodded. “If taken in the right doses, oh yeah. The Imps toss you in prison if they even see the stuff near you. Mando Goldies do too, if the enforcement office catches you. And I found that out the hard way.”

Jay cocked her head. “What happened?”

Janada glanced at Vhetin. “Is she always this nosy?”

Vhetin bowed his head slightly. “She always means well with her questions. You can trust her, _vod_.”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause. She rubbed her eyes and cleared her throat self-consciously. “I got in with this guy. _Aruetii_, said he could help me pay off some debts I owed. He had me running drug shipments all over Keldabe. I needed the money and I was addicted to the drugs, so I pretty much did anything he said.”

She folded her arms. “One day the Imperials decided to raid one of our safe houses. I was just getting ready to tell my buddy where he could stuff his drugs, since I was getting sick of being his back-alley delivery girl. But before the Imps clapped us in stun cuffs, he somehow managed to plant a packet of Red Spice on me. When the stormtroopers found it, I was off to jail in a heartbeat. Didn't even get a trial.”

“I'm sorry,” Jay said. “Did you ever find him again? Your drug-dealer friend?”

“Oh I found him,” Janada said with a dark scowl.

“And what did you do?”

“What do you think I did? I killed him.”

“That seems a little... rash,” Jay said slowly. “Why not make him prove you were innocent?”

“Whether I proved myself innocent or no, that man took a year off my life. Nothing was going to get me that year back. So when I caught up with him, I took a good twenty or thirty away from him.”

“Payback's a bitch,”Vhetin said with a shrug.

“And so am I,” Janada finished with a scowl. “When I got out of that prison, I made myself a promise that I would never go back. And that man was a walking, talking ticket back to my cell. He needed to be removed from the equation. So I removed him.”

Jay nodded, obviously remembering her own time in Imperial custody. “I can sympathize with that.”

“Yeah,” Janada said with another sigh. “I heard about your jail time. I guess we're two of a kind.”

“I guess so.”

Janada folded her arms. “Who was responsible? For your sentence?”

“_Vod_,” Vhetin murmured warningly. He knew his partner had very bad memories from her time in incarceration. He didn't want Janada overstepping her bounds.

But Jay just frowned and said, “Darth Vader. More or less.”

Janada let out a low whistle. “Impressive. You must be at the top of the Empire's shit list.”

“Pretty much,” Jay said. “I guess we all have our enemies.”

Vhetin was about to interject when a red-armored MandalMotors technician strode up to Jay, tapped her shoulder, and said, “Excuse me, ma'am, but you have an urgent call from the Keldabe Enforcement Office.”

“Denton?” Jay asked, a look of fear entering her eyes. “What's happened? Where's the nearest comm?”

Janada sighed as they set off across the warehouse floor again. “What could possibly have gone wrong now?”

~~~~~~~~

**Keldabe City**

With heavy, pounding footsteps, the being once known as D'harhan stomped through the streets of Keldabe. The armored fleshlings that inhabited the city gave him a wide berth, staring at him with shock, awe, and even suspicion.

He didn't care.

His cannon was currently in standby mode, the status lights glowing green, but the weapon still tracked back and forth, scanning the area ahead.

The fleshling known as Moqena had requested his presence at the scene of some crime. Apparently there had been an explosion, and he was needed to ensure there were no more. He had to admit, he wasn't exactly looking forward to the assignment. He preferred missions that were simple and clear; missions where he could aim his cannon, fire away, and be done with it.

Despite what the Echani said, D'harhan was no brute. In fact, among his own people, the Niordi, he was once known as an artist. He was known across his homeworld as the most “cultured” of his brethren. Some even had the gall to call him weak and cowardly, despite his position in the local militia.

But it had all changed with the outbreak of what the fleshlings called the “Clone Wars.” Though not directly affected by the war, some claimed the war agitated the legendary Scourge. Overnight, his homeworld was overrun with monstrous, leech-like aliens known as the Lugubraa. As mighty as his people were, they fell by the thousands to the terrible Lugubraa Scourge.

By the time his people discovered the Lugubraa invaders were a cloned creation of the Republic, they were too weak to do anything about it. War was the word on everyone's lips, but his brothers and sisters lacked the strength to fight for themselves. His entire species teetered on the brink of extinction.

Then came the Separatists. They were fleshlings, but used the powers of hardlings – what they called “droids” - to fight for them. To D'harhan's people, they seemed nothing short of magic. His world, far beyond the Outer Rim, had never seen such sights before.

But the promise of new technologies were not all the Separatists offered; they gave his people a way to fight the Lugubraa Scourge. They offered to freely give every one of his people a miraculous new surgery that would give them the power to defend their homes.

D'harhan and all his brothers and sisters had jumped at the chance. They had submitted to the fleshling's surgeries with joy in their hearts. He still remembered speaking with his three sisters, whispering and laughing about how they would soon be killing Lugubraa by the thousands with their new powers.

But the fleshling's tongues dripped poison. Their surgeries did not make D'harhan and his people heroes, but monsters. Twisted hybrids of flesh and metal, they became, robbed of their senses and emotions. Their brains were ripped from their skulls and placed in their chests, their heads removed and burned. D'harhan's terror and revulsion was repressed by the new mechanical implants, leaving him hollow inside. He wasn't even able to speak any more, confined to expression through an electronic synthesizer implanted where his throat used to be.

And when D'harhan and the others woke from their synthetic dreams, their war was already over. But it was not the glorious victory they were promised. They returned to their homes, transformed into great machines of war, to find their villages in ruins, their homes in flames. His homeworld had fallen even as D'harhan was given the power to strike back at those who sought to destroy him.

Fury filling his new mechanical heart, he regrouped with his remaining brethren and staged a devastating attack on the Republic ship that had brought the Scourge to his people's home. Their new weapons created carnage even the Emperor only ever dreamed of. They killed Lugubraa left and right, until every deck of the ship was filled with alien corpses. But alas, the fight proved too much for his brothers and sisters. By the time their mission was complete, all the others, including D'harhan's sisters, had been killed. He stood, amidst a sea of Lugubraa blood, as the last Niordi in all the galaxy.

The fleshling Separatists with their poisonous tongues had returned at that moment. They praised D'harhan's strength and proclaimed him the strongest of all his people. They offered him a place of great power among the ranks of their hardlings, to march against those who had loosed the Scourge upon his people. They said all their research had been to find him, their “one perfect specimen” that would not only survive the surgery, but become better for it.

But D'harhan's heart no longer ruled his emotions; it had been removed and replaced with a power core that would keep both his body and his weapon functioning. His mind no longer ruled his actions; it had been flash-frozen, removed from his skull, and implanted in an armored processing unit in his chest. He no longer thought like a living being, his life now ruled by the cold menace of a machine.

So D'harhan had suddenly found he had little patience for the poisonous fleshlings and their poisonous words. He couldn't even see his homeworld now, as his eyes no longer saw the world around him. Instead, sensory readings from his primary weapon fed directly into his brain showing him that his world was devoid of life, save for the Lugubraa soldiers that swarmed across its surface.

The Separatists' words meant nothing to him any more. Their words meant as little to him as the buzzing of flitterbees around his head.

So he killed them. He killed them, their guards, their hardlings, and every other being that moved. Once done, he destroyed the entire ship and left. He had no trajectory, no goals, no desire but one: to kill. To kill again and again and again until the million souls of his people's ghosts had been avenged tenfold.

So he knew the Echani was wrong. He was no brute. He was simply a being of simple tastes. Death and destruction were his desires, and when they were well filled, he was happy. When he was starved of such pleasures, he grew agitated and restless. No one wanted that.

He let out a creaking rumble, his shoulders rising and falling erratically. It was the closest he could come to a laugh, and it drew the gazes of fleshlings all across the street. He continued laughing until he ruptured a coolant tube and felt cold fluid dribbling down his leathery shoulder.

His laughter was cut short when he felt a sharp jerk in the back of his neck, felt something ripped from his body. His primary weapon fell limply to his chest, unable to move. He staggered slightly, his sensory information abruptly cutting out. A dull buzz rang out from his vocoder and he frantically tried to reach out and grasp the ground with his prosthetic tail, lest the weight of his limp cannon pitch him forward onto the ground.

Too late. His weight carried him too far forward, knocking him off balance. He crashed heavily to the ground, trying in vain to power up his weapon. A dull buzz sounded from the hydraulics of his cannon, the mechanics sputtering and sparking.

He felt a boot land on the armored rivets in his back that kept his prosthetic attached to his body.

“Well, well, well,” a soft voice said. “If it isn't the legendary D'harhan, the walking death machine himself. I've heard so much about you.”

He felt a sudden surge of excruciating electric pain course through his body. If he still had vocal cords, he would have screamed. By the time the surge abated, he was already losing consciousness. He had time only enough to hear the soft voice whisper, “I have great plans for you.”


	7. Catching Up

**Speeder taxi en route to Keldabe City Enforcement Office**

“So nothing is wrong?” Vhetin asked from the back seat of the taxi.

Jay nodded with a sigh of relief. “Nothing is wrong. Denton just wanted an update on our progress and to tell us he found a witness of the bombing who claims to have known Matt.”

Janada, listening into the conversation via holo-communicator, raised an eyebrow. Her miniature hologram floated in the air, projected above Vhetin's new blade-gauntlet. “_Who's the newcomer?_”

Jay shrugged. “Don't know. An _aruetii_. I think Denton mentioned something about a Zeltron.”

Janada grinned and turned to Vhetin. “_A Zeltron, huh? You'll want to polish your armor, little bro. Look good for the new girl._”

“Even if I wanted to,” Vhetin replied calmly, “I couldn't polish this crap armor you gave me.”

“_Watch your mouth. You're wearing thousands of credits' worth of prototype tech. Don't be so quick to insult it._”

Vhetin laughed. “You sound like it's going to kill me if I don't treat it with respect.”

“_The armor won't,_” Janada said, folding her arms. “_I will_.”

Jay craned her neck as they approached the enforcement office. “Can you two stow it for a minute? We're coming up on our destination.”

Vhetin nodded and moved to power off Janada's holo. “Catch up with you later, _vod_.”

“_Don't forget that me and the other mech-heads from work having poker night tomorrow. We'll save a seat for you._”

“I might be busy,” Vhetin said. “You know, trying to stop a killer.”

“_Oh. Right. Well, we'll still be looking out for you._”

“Don't get your hopes up,” Vhetin said, then signed off the comm.

Jay smiled. “Barely back a week and she's already got you hooked in to playing poker games?”

Vhetin sighed. “Yeah. Janada's always been one to live in the moment and not dwell on the past. I doubt she even remembers I was gone any more.”

“Right,” Jay said. “I find it hard to imagine her worried sick while you were held captive.”

“There's a difference,” Vhetin said, “between being worried while someone's gone and being glad they're back.”

Jay was about to say more when her comm buzzed. She pulled it out of her pocket and hooked it into her ear. “Moqena.”

The comm was too quiet to hear, but Vhetin turned up his new helmet's auditory receptors until he could make out the conversation. He could clearly hear Denton's voice as the enforcement officer said, “_You almost here?_”

“Almost,” Jay replied. “We're coming up on the shop now. Any new leads?”

“_We've got the Zeltron in custody now. She's been pretty cooperative so far, but she isn't talking much until we show her a recording of our findings._”

“Ah,” Jay said. “And you're reluctant to part with that?”

“_Damn straight_,” Denton replied. “_That information is vital to our investigation. I'm not willing to just hand it out to civvies at every opportunity_.”

“Understandable,” Jay said. “What about Brianna? She knew Matt. She might know this Zeltron woman.”

“_I thought of that as well, but Bellan says she's never seen the Zeltron before._”

“If Matt was caught up in the Red Spice trade,” Vhetin murmured, “this Zeltron may be a contact of his from... well, from a less savory side of the city.”

Jay turned and glared at him. “Cin, please try to stop eavesdropping on conversations I'm having with my boyfriend. That's rude, you know.”

Vhetin blinked. “Oh. Sorry.”

He fell silent, but continued to listen intently to the conversation. Jay turned back to her seat and said, “What about Handmaiden? Has she found anything new?”

“_Nothing that she's seen fit to share with me_.”

“She can be like that sometimes.” The taxi turned a corner and the enforcement office came into sight. “We're here. See you in a few.”

“_We'll be waiting_.”

The taxi dropped them off outside the enforcement office, parking between two black-painted police vehicles. Vhetin stepped out of the taxi, turning up his new helmet's prototype scanning equipment and surveying his surroundings. The building they had stopped at was a plain gray structure with a boxy construction and few windows that he could see, built straight into one of the towering barrier walls that encircled the city. The architecture was reminiscent of the Imperial garrison to the north. He assumed the headquarters of the city police force, which had been a run-down wreck during the Clone Wars, had been rebuilt and retrofitted by Imperial contractors. Mandos had never been ones to refuse help, even from Imperials.

“So,” he eventually said, “this is the enforcement office, huh?”

“What, you've never been here?” Jay asked, raising an eyebrow as she took the lead.

He shook his head. If not for the gold-armored officers swarming around the building, he would have taken it for any other structure in the city. It was a little nicer than the shabby architecture that made up the rest of downtown Keldabe, but it blended in pretty well with the buildings around it, its boxy architecture molding perfectly into the centuries-old barrier defenses that made up its back wall. He assumed that made the office less of a target for anyone looking to harm the Keldabe police force. “The only trouble I've gotten into in the city is with Imperials. This place looks... nice, I guess.”

“Well there's a first time for everything. Come on, Denton's waiting for us.”

She led him through the front doors, into the main atrium of the building. It was busy inside; probably due to the bombing downtown. Gold-armored officers and day-to-day city inhabitants were everywhere, though the atrium was strangely silent. Vhetin didn't know whether that was due to the shock of the bombing or the fact that most of the Mandos were using their internal helmet comms.

If it was more due to shock, Vhetin didn't blame them. Keldabe could get rowdy, especially when the _Oyu'baat_ or alcohol was involved, but the city was rarely violent. Vhetin couldn't remember the last time there had been a bombing within the city limits, or even if there had been one during his lifetime. Mandos simply didn't operate like that; collateral damage wasn't the Mandalorian way.

Jay quickly found a free officer and said, “We're looking for Denton Dral. Can you point us in the right direction?”

The man gestured over his shoulder and grunted, “Down that hall. Interrogation Room Delta.”

She nodded, thanked the man, then set off down the hall. Vhetin quickened his pace to keep up with her and said, “So what do we know about this new witness? The Zeltron.”

“Denton didn't want to talk much on comms,” Jay said, “No telling who could be listening in.”

“Smart man.”

“Yeah. But what he did tell me was that this Zeltron woman supposedly knew our victim. Said she was pretty shaken up to learn he was dead. If you're right and they were in on the drug trade together, she may be able to give us valuable information.”

“Any other intel?”

“She's pretty quiet from what I hear,” Jay said. “Shock from the bombing, I'm guessing. When we get there, let's take it slow and careful. You stay back while I question her.”

“Why?”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “Take the word of an _aruetii_, Cin. Your armor doesn't exactly make people calm and sociable. Especially when it looks so... messy.”

“Hey, I didn't ask for this new kit,” he said indignantly. “If it were up to me, I'd still be in the black and gray.”

“Calm down, Cin,” she said with the hint of a smile. “I was just teasing you.”

“Oh.”

“Just stay with the others in the observation room and I'll handle the interrogation.”

He reluctantly nodded. “Right. I'll just glare at her if she starts dodging questions. That way I'll still get to be the bad cop.”

She smiled. “Not this time. If anyone's going to be the bad cop, it's going to be Denton. You know, because he's actually a cop.”

Vhetin paused, then scowled and followed closer, muttering, “But I'm always the bad cop.”

She laughed and nudged him in the ribs. “Get over yourself, Stripes.”

They met up with Denton, Handmaiden, and Brianna just outside Interrogation Room Delta. Vhetin's stomach tightened when he saw they were all covered in a mixture of ash, dirt, and blood. He made instantly for Brianna and moved to give her a concerned hug. He quickly thought better of it and instead awkwardly touched her shoulder.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She seemed to calm down when she recognized his voice. She was bleeding in several places, had a black eye and more than a few bruises, and was holding her wrist tightly in pain. But she nodded and sighed, “We're okay. It was... well, it was a nightmare back there.”

He didn't like the way her voice was shaking. He squeezed her shoulder. “What's wrong?”

She shook her head. “A lot of innocents were caught in the blast. There were... a lot of bodies.”

He scowled and thought, _screw it,_ and pulled her into a gentle hug. He half-expected her to push him away, but she surprisingly hugged him back. He closed his eyes, remembering when such a gesture was a familiar thing.

She shivered, as if cold. “It's... been a long time since I've seen something like that. I'd forgotten what it was like.”

“It's okay,” he murmured, patting her shoulder. “You're safe now.”

They stayed that way for a few moments. Then she took a shaky breath and pushed away, holding him at arm's length. “I'm okay now. I'll be fine.”

Vhetin nodded slightly and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. He didn't care about the way she wasn't meeting his gaze, or the way Handmaiden was staring at him with a mixture of contempt and snide amusement. She may be seeing someone else, but she was still his Brianna, his Bri. Nothing would change that.

Then he turned his attention to the one-way mirror and the scene unfolding beyond it. Jay was leaning against the opposite wall, thumbing through a folder full of flimsi reports. Sitting at the bolted durasteel table in the center of the room was a Zeltron woman with skin the color of blood and hair as black as Vhetin's old armor. Her eyes, red like her skin, were darting nervously around the room and she was wringing her hands again and again. She definitely looked frightened, but by what, he couldn't tell.

Vhetin hadn't had many dealings with Zeltron. He'd long suspected that one of his many contacts was of the same species, but had no evidence to back it up. He did know, however, that physiologically Zeltron were fast, nimble, and quiet, renown for their skills as spies or assassins. Their females were seductive temptresses, able to manipulate the secretion of pheromones that could entice even the most steadfast of men. When he'd heard such rumors, he had immediately installed olfactory filters in his helmet to combat such an occurrence.

Pheromones aside, Vhetin had to admit the woman was one of the most beautiful females he had ever seen. Her face was lean and regal, with high cheekbones, a proud chin, and dark eyes that blazed with an internal fire. She was wearing a dark leather corset that left her smooth shoulders bare and had heavy leather work pants and combat boots. Vhetin saw from the report projected onto his side of the mirror that she'd had a heavily modified field pistol confiscated upon her admittance to the station; she had obviously been living on Mandalore for some time, then.

There was a loud _clank_ and the heavy blast door leading into the detention room slid open. Denton entered the room, helmet gone, a frown on his face. He slowly shut the door behind him, then took the seat opposite the woman. He reached out to take a flimsi report Jay offered him and looked through it silently, a frown still furrowing his brows. The Zeltron's gaze darted nervously between him and Jay.

Eventually, Denton sighed and set aside the report. He folded his hands, fixing the woman with an intense, unwavering gaze, and said, “Can we get your name once more for the record?”

The woman shifted in her seat and said, “Callie. Callie Mapular.”

“Miss Mapular,” Denton said, “it's not common for people to turn themselves in and openly offer information for a murder case. Care to explain why you broke the trend?”

The Zeltron woman smiled slightly, sadness permeating the gesture. “Matt and I were old friends. We met at Academy, studying political science together. I always thought it was odd that a Mandalorian would be enrolled in a class like that.”

“You two were close?”

She nodded. “I would have done anything for him.”

“Romantically close?” Denton pressed with a raised eyebrow.

“What? No!” she laughed a little at the notion, brushing a wayward strand of black hair from her dark eyes. The motion was a little too flirtatious for Vhetin to take the statement at face value. “Matt was happily married. The last thing I would want to do is get between him and Lia.”

“So you just knew each other from school?” Denton asked. “That's it?”

“Pretty much,” the woman said with a frown. “Why... why do you ask?”

Jay looked up from her collection of files. “Callie, we have reason to believe Matt was caught up in illegal activities, outlawed by both Mandalorian and Imperial law.”

The Zeltron frowned. “Like what?”

“Drugs,” Jay said. “Red Spice, specifically.”

“I've never heard of it,” the woman said. “And I have no idea why Matt would do drugs. He was happy.”

“So you can think of nothing that indicates he would have been caught up in the city drug trade?” Denton inquired.

“No,” Callie said. “I mean, we all have our problems. Matt had some monetary issues, but he was always able to deal with them on his own.”

“Callie,” Jay said, flipping over a report and skimming through it quickly, “it says here you and Matt were more than just friends. He worked for you, at your...”

“Packaging plant,” the woman said, nodding. “I manage a packaging plant for farm supplies here in Keldabe. Grassgrain seed, stuff like that. When Matt was in the dumps, I would sometimes give him a job. Just until he could get on his feet again, you know.”

“Is there someone there he may have come into contact with?” Denton inquired. “Someone there who may have set him up with the drugs?”

“No!” Callie said indignantly. “I would never employ people like that!”

“You sure? You couldn't have known every one of your employees on such a personal level.”

“I'm sure,” the woman replied, folding her arms stubbornly. “Even if someone was hiding that from me, another employee would have brought it to my attention.”

“You wouldn't mind if my partner checked out your plant?” Jay asked. “We need to validate your claims.”

“Go ahead,” Callie said with a dismissive wave of one hand. “Just tell the guards I sent you.”

Jay nodded and put a finger to her hands-free comlink. Vhetin heard her voice over his new helmet comm, the transmission crisper and clearer than if heard over his previous model. The transmission also crackled out over his helmet's external speakers, allowing Brianna and the Handmaiden to listen in as well. “_You heard the lady, Stripes. You have your assignment._”

“I'm on it.”

“_Take someone with you. No telling what other surprises this murderous _di'kut_ has up his sleeve._”

Vhetin glanced at his two companions. Brianna pointedly avoided his gaze, while the Handmaiden simply narrowed her eyes in challenge. He rolled his eyes and switched the conversation over to a private comm channel. “But there are so many eager volunteers to choose from.”

“_All due respect intended, Cin, but get over it. I need you scouting out that packaging plant and I don't want you wandering off alone._”

“Your concern is noted,” Vhetin said. “And appreciated. But I don't think either of these two are going to-”

“I'll go with you,” Brianna interrupted, as if she could still hear their conversation. Vhetin looked over at her, but found that she was still staring at her boots. She shifted uncomfortably and repeated, “I'll go with you. You need someone to back you up, like Jay said.”

“I don't think-” Vhetin began.

“_It's settled, then,_” Jay interrupted. “_Get to the packaging plant and scout it out. I want a report back within the hour._”

Vhetin stared at Brianna for a few moments, then sighed. “Done.”

With that, he turned and strode out of the room, barely pausing to allow his ex-girlfriend to keep up.

~~~~~~~~

“Why?”

Brianna blinked. “What?”

He didn't look back at her as he strode down the long, busy halls of the Keldabe enforcement office. He swerved to avoid a gold-armored officer hauling a cuffed criminal toward the holding cells, then clenched a fist and repeated, “Why? Why would you, of all people, decide to come with me?”

Brianna shook her head. He was going to be difficult about this, she knew it. It was one of the things she simultaneously admired and hated about him: his relentlessness. “Well, it was obvious that Echani wasn't going to volunteer any time soon. And Jay's right that you need someone to watch your back. You're not exactly in the best position to fight.”

“And?”

“And what?” she said.

“There was more reason than that,” Vhetin muttered. “You were never one to operate solely on a basis of practicality. That's my field of expertise.”

Brianna grimaced, but Vhetin wasn't about to relent. He wasn't going to let her off that easy, so there was really nothing to do but come clean.

She eventually sighed. “Despite whatever has happened between us, I missed you. I wanted to spend some time together after so long apart.”

“Right,” he scoffed. “And a murder investigation was the best time you could come up with?”

“Don't do this, Cin,” she said as they emerged out onto the sunlit streets of Keldabe. Brianna shivered slightly as a cold breeze suddenly gusted from the north-east, signs of an approaching cold front. She zipped her leather jacket, pulling up the collar and hunching her shoulders against the wind. “Don't start us off like this.”

“I couldn't care less,” Vhetin growled, his tone dripping with animosity. “You made your intentions clear this morning when you introduced me to your buddy Galaar.”

Brianna rubbed her eyes. “I shouldn't have to explain myself. To you least of all.”

“No, you do have to explain yourself now,” he snapped, rounding on her. “This isn't like our previous arguments, Bri. This is a little more serious, wouldn't you say?”

“No,” she said, frowning and taking a step forward. “No, it isn't. But you seem to think so.”

He shook his head in disgust and moved to walk away. She put a hand on his chest plates, preventing him from doing so.

“When couples break up,” she said, “they usually start to see other people. Literally everyone in the galaxy operates by the same principle. Don't tell me you're so completely out of it that you don't know that.”

“I understand the concept,” Vhetin said. “What I question is the amount of time it took you to find someone else. Just how long did it take for you to hook up with your buddy Galaar? Months? Weeks? Days, maybe?”

“Kriff you, Cin,” she snapped, shoving at his chest. “I try and make time to catch up and this is how you respond?”

He seemed to visibly deflate. His shoulders slumped and his fists unclenched. He took a few long, deep breaths, then murmured, “You're right. I'm sorry.”

She nodded and took a step back, relieved that she had finally calmed him down. She could tell he was truly sorry, and it made her feel bad for being so cross with him. “For what it's worth, I'm sorry too. For all our differences... well, we used to have something. I'd hate for that to disappear.”

“I would too,” Vhetin said, shaking his head. They lapsed into uncomfortable silence for a few moments. Then, as a taxi pulled up to take them to the packaging plant, he cleared his throat and said, “Catch-up time can wait. For now, we've got work to do.”

“Agreed,” she murmured as she climbed in next to him. She was relieved that he was once again focused on the task at hand. It was a trait that had previously infuriated her, but she was now glad he could so easily switch from personal troubles to thoughts of business. “So where do we start?”

“Like Jay said, typical recon assessment of the packaging plant. We need to evaluate the area, check security vids for any suspicious activity, and interview staff to see if they know anything about Matt or this Red Spice trade. Assume everyone there is a potential hostile until proven otherwise.”

“You make it sound like we're heading into a warzone.” The speeder took off with a jarring surge of acceleration while she plugged in the coordinates to a panel on the back of her seat. The droid driver beeped in acknowledgment and steered them toward the destination.

He shrugged, trying – and failing – to stifle a wheezing cough behind his helmet. “Over ten people are dead now because of this killer, with Force-knows how many others to follow. We have no idea who the target is or what he wants, except that he seems hell-bent on killing as many innocents as he can before he's caught. I think that's a pretty good definition of a warzone.”

He was about to say more, but broke down in a sudden hacking fit, holding his chest in pain. Brianna moved toward him, unsure of what she should do. But he quickly waved her off and turned away from her.

“I'm fine,” he gasped between coughs, “I'm okay.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure you don't want to sit this one out? You sound terrible.”

He finally was able to control himself and sat back in his seat, sucking in a long breath. “I'm okay. Haven't felt like throwing up black slime in hours, so I think I'm doing better.”

“I'm sure Jay wouldn't want to see you push yourself beyond your limits,” she said, awkwardly covering up her own concern. “Not so soon after you've returned.”

He saw through her almost immediately; he knew her too well for her ruse to go unnoticed. “Is that the only reason you're concerned?”

She quickly looked away. “For now, yes.”

He stared at her for a few long, uncomfortable moments, then turned his gaze ahead. She distinctly heard him mutter, “Liar.”

She sighed and said, “Look, don't do this to me Cin. Please. I've got a good thing going with Galaar and I don't want you messing it up.”

Her words stung more than she had intended; she saw him wince visibly. “You're serious?”

“Yes,” she insisted, softening her tone. “I... I still care about you, Cin, but... but not like it was. You understand that, right?”

“No.”

She cursed and rubbed her eyes, taking a few moments to gather her thoughts. Finally, she took a deep breath and said, “Cin, I know that you haven't had to go through this before. After your accident... well, I was the only person you were really close to.”

“That's why-”

“Let me finish,” she pressed. “I was the only person you had,but if you keep treating me like we never broke up... well, you'll only find pain. You need to _move on_. For both our sakes.”

He stared at her for a long time, expression unreadable behind his _beskar_ face plate. Then he eventually shook his head. “I'm sorry, Bri, but that's something I just can't do.”

“Cin-”

“No,”he interrupted forcefully. “Now it's my turn.”

He checked to make sure the window separating them from the droid driver was fully tinted, then pulled his helmet off and set it on his lap. Brianna winced to see the state he was in; his face was a mess of bruises and lacerations, one eye almost swelled shut. His lips were cut and swollen and it looked as if his hair had been falling out in clumps. Her heart broke to see him in such obvious pain, while her head shouted at her to stifle such feelings. Like she herself had said, it would only lead to pain.

But the sincerity in his eyes was too real to resist when he met her gaze and said, “You may have the benefit of experience, Bri, and you're right. I've never shared my life with anyone but you. But that's not a weakness.”

“You're not-”

He ignored her. “You say I'll find only pain if I pursue what we once had. Well I'm willing to accept that. Because that's how much I cared. How much I _still_ care. I'll suffer any amount of pain I have to in order to see you happy. If that means I spend the rest of my life looking back on what we had while you move on... then so be it.”

He touched her hand, gently. She couldn't tear her eyes away from his intense blue gaze as he said, “I will never, _ever_ stop loving you, Bri. No matter what.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came to mind. In the end, it didn't matter; he quickly pulled his hand back, pulled his helmet over his head, and adjusted himself in his seat, stifling another weak cough.

In a single moment, it was done. Case closed, conversation over.

She blinked, heart hammering in her chest, then turned her gaze to the seat in front of her and sighed a quiet curse.

_I really know how to pick 'em, don't I? _she chided herself with a small shake of her head.

~~~~~~~~

**Ten minutes later**

“I don't care how difficult is is, Tarron, I need you to find out what you can.”

“_I need more time!_” the man shot back.

Vhetin sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could rub his throbbing forehead. “Tarron, you have no idea how dangerous these people are. Project Whiteclaw-”

“_-is gone, Cin. You said yourself that you destroyed their facility and killed almost all of their men. What would the Empire gain from rebuilding a multi-million-credit research project that wasn't producing any results in the first place?_”

Vhetin shook his head. “You don't understand. If the Project was a failure, they had contingency orders to switch the focus of the group to viral weapons development.”

There was a long pause before the comm crackled with a response.

“_Well... that is worth looking into_,” Tarron admitted, _“but with the Facility destroyed, you can't say for certain that any of the virus made it out._”

“Can you say for certain that it didn't?”

There was a long pause over the comm, during which Vhetin could hear the humming of the speeder's engines as they made their way through traffic toward the packaging plant. Finally, Tarron let out a weary sigh and said, “_All right. Point made. I'll send out a few feelers, see what I can dig up._”

“I'm not looking for a fight,” Vhetin felt compelled to say. “I'm just trying to put my mind to rest.”

“_I know, old friend_,” Tarron said sympathetically. “_You hang in there, okay? Rame filled me in on the details of your condition._”

“I'm fine,” Vhetin said, lying through his teeth. He'd felt the preservative fluid building up in his lungs again over the past few hours and knew that another purge was inevitable. Thanks to Rame, he was downing as much immuno-booster and anti-viral medication as he could to try and fortify his body against the pneumonia infection, but couldn't cure himself completely. At the end of the day, all he could do was wait to get better.

“_Don't push yourself too hard_,” Tarron warned. “_Remember, you're no good to us dead._”

Vhetin chuckled a little, then said, “Your concern is noted. But I need that information.”

“_All right, all right,_” the man said in mock-exasperation. “_Back for less than a day and he's already got his boot up my ass..._”

Vhetin couldn't restrain a grin as he said, “Thanks Tarron. It was good to talk to you again.”

“_Likewise. What's it like being back home?_”

Vhetin glanced over at Brianna, silently thanking the fact he had his external helmet comm turned off. “Tense.”

“_I'd imagine. It would be odd to come back after so long._”

“More than that. Brianna's seeing someone else.”

Silence. Eventually Tarron sighed and said, _“Really_?”

“Really.”

“_I'm sorry, _vod_. That must be hard. What's he like?_”

“An asshole.”

“_Obviously. I meant apart from that._”

Vhetin shook his head. “I don't really know. Haven't had time to chat with him. I hope I never do.”

Tarron was silent for a few moments more, then he said, “_Well in that case you need all the good news you can get. I'll look into this Whiteclaw thing for you. You take care of yourself, okay?_”

“No promises,” Vhetin replied.

“_Yeah, yeah,_” Tarron grumbled. “_I know how it works._”

“Vhetin out.” He signed off the comm and sat back in his seat, rubbing his sore throat. Speaking for extended periods of time made his throat hurt worse than usual and made his lungs constrict painfully in his chest.

Eventually, Brianna glanced over at him, then murmured, “So... how is Tarron?”

“Fine,” he replied. “He's back among the Hapan consortium, attending to the Queen Mother.”

“And he agreed to help you track down this Whiteclaw group you mentioned?”

“For the time being. He's not making any promises, considering the last time he joined up with me he was almost beaten to death. But he said he'll look into the matter.”

There was a few long moments of silence, during which the cab pulled around a corner and the warehouse came into view. As the speeder slowed to a halt and the droid pilot informed them that it was safe to leave the vehicle, Brianna shook her head and said, “Do you think they're still out there?”

“I don't know,” he replied as he exited the speeder. He glanced up at the dark, cloudy sky and murmured, “I hope not.”

Brianna shuddered. A storm was moving in, one of Keldabe's many summer thunderstorms. There was a cold wind blowing through the area and rain would undoubtedly begin to fall soon. “So about this packing plant?”

“Typical run-of-the-mill Keldabe business,” Vhetin replied, pulling up the building's quarterly report on his HUD. “It doesn't look like there's anything shady going on. Fluctuating profits, periods of loss...”

“No way to tell without getting in there,” Brianna sighed. “Let's go.”

Vhetin led the way, cautious of any more surprises. He was surprised by the boldness of the previous attack. There hadn't been a suicide bombing in Keldabe in decades, at least since the last Death Watch uprising during the Clone Wars. For one to happen now, after so long a time of peace, was more than moderately disturbing.

“Vhetin and Bellan,” he said, presenting his identification to the human man at the front desk. “We're here on special assignment from the enforcement office.”

“Aye, I know why you're here,” the man growled, waving away the ID badge. “You have permission to investigate as you please.

“Anything odd going on recently?”

“Nothing,” the man said. “All calm as always.”

Brianna glanced at Vhetin skeptically, then said, “I'd like to take a look at all of your security footage. Can you show me the way?”

The man nodded, albeit grudgingly. “This way.”

Vhetin nodded to them and said, “I'll start interviewing employees and see what I can dig up. I'll be in touch.”

He made his way around the front desk, to the doors behind with signs displaying _EMPLOYEES ONLY. _Beyond was a much larger area, the main room of the warehouse. Crates were stacked everywhere, everything from military food ration to grassgrain stock to weapons and ammunition. Vhetin smiled at the thought of what the Imperials might do if they got a look inside; if he knew Mandalorian business, which he did, he would guess that much of the warehouse's stock was illegal, at least by Imperial standards.

He waved down a passerby, a warehouse manager by the look of him. “I'm here to interview staff in regards to a police investigation. Can you gather your employees?”

“Aye, sir,” the man said in a heavily accented voice. “It'll be done in a sec.”

Vhetin nodded as the man set off on his task. He pulled up his HUD systems, opening a live link to Brianna's comm. He watched the employee's progress as he gathered up the warehouse workers into an orderly line, awaiting inspection by Vhetin.

“_Security footage is showing just a little less than nothing_,” Brianna replied with a weary sigh.

“Not surprising,” Vhetin said, heading toward the line of assembled employees. “Our mastermind has proven to be a very intelligent being who has a firm grasp of his surroundings. He's probably covered his tracks.”

“_Keep the comm open while interviewing the employees_,” she said. “_I want to hear the conversation_.”

“Will do.”

He stepped forward and linked his arms behind his back. His time with the military began returning to him, and he began mirroring his ICF training sergeant's stance when inspecting his troops: straight-backed, taking short, measured steps, eyes holding the gaze of each man he passed.

“You know why I am here.” It was not a question.

Several gazes shifted uneasily at his words. He noticed it with satisfaction; that meant some of them might have the information he sought. He maintained his stern, helmeted gaze and continued his walk. “I'm a bounty hunter, on special contract with the city enforcement office. Count yourselves lucky that you find yourself in my company, rather than the company of the enforcement office drug squad.”

More uneasy gazes, now mixed with hushed murmurs. Vhetin let them continue before raising a single hand to silence them. He narrowed his eyes behind his HUD while Brianna said, “Giving them the bad cop routine? I like it.”

He ignored her and instead growled, “The Keldabe Enforcement office has reason to believe that this warehouse has been a post in the city drug trade. Now, usually the entire city police force would descend on this place, but it just so happens that they've got bigger problems.”

He stopped at the end of the line of employees, then turned on his heel and headed back the way he came. “I speak with the full power and authority of the Keldabe police force. And I promise that anyone who steps forward will not only have amnesty from any crime committed, but have a cash award paid on the spot.”

There was a long pause, during which Brianna said, “We're offering them money now?”

He turned off his helmet's external speakers and replied, “If that's what it takes.”

“I don't think Denton would approve.”

“I don't think he'd care,” Vhetin said. “It's coming from my pocket, not his.”

He then turned his attention back to the people before him. They were talking earnestly among themselves now, some of them glancing at Vhetin fearfully. He turned his gaze over the line, listening with satisfaction as the frightened whispers only intensified. Some of them were even pointing at him nervously.

“What is your response?” he said finally. “I can be most forgiving when I get what I want.”

“Cin...” Brianna said slowly. “We've got someone on the cams. He's got a gun.”

“Good. Put a time and a place on the cam and send the vid to Denton. When did it happen?”

“Now!” Brianna suddenly shouted. “He's coming for you!”

Vhetin reacted without thinking, ducking down out of the way. A thousand thoughts rushed through his mind: Why hadn't he checked his HUD's 360-degree display? The workers had obviously been pointing not at him, but at someone _behind _him. So who was this attacker? And if he was linked with their killers, why was he using a gun and not simply blowing himself up like last time?

Then a blaster bolt flashed through his field of vision, slicing the air just beyond his visor and hitting a warehouse employee squarely between the eyes. The man twitched and fell, dead before he hit the ground.

Screams erupted throughout the warehouse and employees took off running in all directions. Several armored warehouse guards stepped forward to apprehend the man with the gun, but they were swiftly cut down by blaster fire. The ever-calm analytical side of Vhetin's mind observed that they were felled by precise shots to the throat – one of the only weak points on a Mandalorian's armor.

Then more shots flew his way and he somersaulted to the side, drawing a pistol from his belt as he came back to his feet. His new HUD was frantically scanning the area, throwing copious amounts of information onto his helmet display with dizzying speed. He grimaced in irritation and shoved it all off-screen with a flick of his eyes. The amber-colored display dimmed and he spotted a man dressed in black sprinting away down a side-aisle of the warehouse.

Vhetin took off after him, raising his weapon and shouting, “Stop!”

Not surprisingly, the man did not listen. But he did surprise Vhetin when he planted a boot on a nearby shelf and vaulted himself into the air, catching hold of the top ledge and hoisting himself up on top of the storage shelf with astonishing ease. He staggered only slightly, off balance, then set off again faster than before.

“Great,” Vhetin muttered. “So it's going to be one of _those_ days.”

Then he followed suit, pushing off the shelf with his boot and pulling himself up on top of the aisle. He groaned as a wash of pain ran through the stitches in his chest, but he forced himself to ignore it. The man was getting away, leaping from aisle-top to aisle-top with uncanny speed.

“What the hell are you doing?” Brianna demanded over his helmet comm.

“He's making a run for it,” Vhetin gasped as he clambered up onto the aisle and started after the man. He leaped across the gap to the next shelf, landing with difficulty before jumping to the next. “Do you have a better way to catch him?”

“You're going to kill yourself,” she said worriedly. “Back off. I'll take it from here.”

He shook his head, throwing himself to the next aisle shelf. The suspect was only three rows ahead now. “The guy will be gone by then.”

“I'm not letting you go after him alone.”

Vhetin was about to reply when he spotted a flash of something out of the corner of his eye. He looked towards it and spotted a blur of white in the warehouse's rafters far above his head. He narrowed his eyes as he threw himself to the next shelf and growled, “I'm not alone.”

“What the hell is that supposed to-”

He shut off his comm and scowled in determination, watching his HUD track the Handmaiden as she sprinted from rafter to rafter, leaping through the air high above him with almost superhuman agility. He bent his knees and leaped over another gap, seeing the man reach the far end of the room and drop off the top shelf and out of sight.

Moments later he vaulted after the man, heading toward the door he saw swinging open ahead of him. He barreled through it, ready to pull his blaster and hit the man with a stun round and find out just what the hell-

He was knocked off his feet as something heavy hit him in the back of the neck, at the sensitive, unguarded point between his collar guard and his helmet. He fell forward onto the ground, sprawling face-first in the mud. He groaned, his head and neck pounding. Through blurry vision, he saw that it was raining now and that the bare ground had turned to a thick layer of mud.

He crawled to his hands and knees, looking through streaming eyes at the dark figure in front of him.

“Who... are you?” he managed to gasp, holding his side.

The figure stepped forward and kicked him in the side, hard enough to knock him off his feet again. He cried out in pain, feeling his stitches pop all along his side and blood beginning to soak his flight suit.

“You thought you were so close, didn't you?” a contemptuous voice said above him. He heard wet footsteps in the mud around him as he rose to his hands and knees again. “So close to figuring it all out.”

“Who are you?” Vhetin said again, holding his side.

“A concerned citizen of this great city,” said the man circling him. His voice was low and had an unnatural warble to it. He was obviously using some kind of harmonic vocal disguiser. “Willing to do whatever is necessary to assist our people.”

“_Our_ people?” Vhetin echoed. “You're Mandalorian.”

“Got it in one,” the man said. “Serving the _mando'ade_ as best I can.”

“By killing people?”

The man cocked his head. “In war, some sacrifices must be made.”

“We aren't at war,” Vhetin said through gritted teeth.

“Oh maybe not yet,” the man said. “But we will be soon. One way or another.”

He reached down and picked up Vhetin's fallen pistol from the mud. He lifted it up, inspecting it and turning it over in his hands before kneeling in the dirt and pressing the weapon to the unarmored point at Vhetin's neck. The man cocked his head sympathetically and said, “I'm almost sorry you won't be there to see it.”

Vhetin tensed as he felt the man squeeze the firing stud, then threw himself to his feet, ramming his helmet into the man's face. The man recoiled with a curse, squeezing off a single shot that hit Vhetin's arm. Vhetin shouted, clutching his arm, then kicked the pistol away. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing the man around the waist and carrying them both into the mud. He brought his helmet up, catching the man in the chin, and landed two punches to the man's ribs before he was kicked away.

They both staggered to their feet. Vhetin's helmet sent a small electrical pulse across the surface of his visor, burning away the rain and mud that clouded his vision. He balled up his fists as the man struck forward with a lightning-fast punch to his stomach. Vhetin easily blocked the blow and countered with a boot kick to his opponent's chest. The man jumped back, out of reach.

Vhetin's new armor was lighter and more flexible than his previous suit, giving him unprecedented agility in battle. The other man was wearing traditional _beskar'gam_, and therefore slower and heavier. His punches were heavier, but easier to predict. Vhetin, even in his weakened state, could easily dodge. He found it easier to simply avoid and counterattack rather than take the offensive himself. The man would easily wear himself out, leaving Vhetin free to move in to restrain him.

But his opponent had other ideas. Vhetin dodged a swipe at his head and lunged forward for a strike at the man's face, but the man hopped back out of range.

“As entertaining as a fist fight with you would be,” the man said, breathing hard, “I've got more important things to do.”

Vhetin was about to press his attack when the man suddenly lashed out with three powerful punches to his wounded ribs. Vhetin groaned and fell to his knees, holding his bleeding side. His opponent followed with a knee to the face, sending Vhetin crashing back down onto his back. Vhetin struggled to rise, but the armored man stomped down hard on his chest, popping even more of Vhetin's stitches in the process. Robbed of strength, he could only sit back and hold his chest, gasping for breath.

The man seized his opportunity to escape. He nimbly back-flipped up onto a nearby dumpster, out of Vhetin's reach. He placed his hands on his hips and said, “Oh, and when you see that pretty partner of yours again, give her a message from me. She and her _di'kutla_ boyfriend had a lucky break at the shop today. They won't be so lucky next time.”

The man gave Vhetin a cocky salute then backflipped again over the fence behind him, dropping down out of sight. Vhetin listened to the man's splashing footsteps retreating into the distance, then collapsed forward, into the mud.


	8. Command Changes

**Twenty minutes later**

Jay surveyed the warehouse, hands on her hips. Police speeders and gold-armored officers were crawling over the scene, interviewing workers and taking holopics for evidence.

“And you didn't see this guy at all until he started sneaking up on Vhetin with a gun?”

Brianna rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. “There... were a lot of monitors. I couldn't watch all of them at once.”

“I believe-” the Handmaiden began.

“Don't start,” Brianna interrupted. “I don't want to hear about your Echani sixth sense and how you can see everything at once.”

Handmaiden clenched a gloved fist in anger. “I grow tired of-”

“Les,” Jay interrupted her now. “Go check on Vhetin. The last thing I need is for my team constantly trying to kill each other.”

“But-”

“_Now_.”

The Echani woman raised her chin in defiance, but stalked off in search of the med speeder and the paramedics.

Brianna stared after the white-clad bounty hunter, then sighed and shook her head. “I honestly have no clue why you keep her around.”

“She's good at this job,” Jay said, watching an enforcement team haul the handcuffed warehouse manager through the main doors. He'd tried to flee the scene after Vhetin was attacked; suspicious behavior that warranted investigation. “One of the best I've seen yet.”

“But she managed to lose our suspect, even after Cin slowed the guy down.”

“As did you,” Jay pointed out.

Brianna winced. “All right. I've got to give you that one.”

Jay sighed and rubbed her eyes. Then she turned to Brianna and put a hand on her shoulder. “Look, I don't want you or anyone else pointing fingers. I'm tired of my teammates always being at each others' throats. I know you don't like Les and you don't exactly have the easiest relationship with Cin right now, but there are lives on the line here. Can you just focus on the mission?”

She nodded. “People don't hire me just for my good looks, you know.”

Jay nodded and said, “Good to hear it. Head into the facility and see if you can't find Trainee Ruusan. Denton and I need a sitrep.

“On it,”the huntress said before setting off toward the warehouse.

~~~~~~~~

Vhetin sat on a storage crate, right gauntlet removed and flight suit sleeve reluctantly rolled up to his shoulder as a white armored paramedic swabbed his arm with sterilization cloth. The cloth stung, so he winced and shoved the paramedic away. “Keep your hands to yourself, _vod_.”

“I have to look at your wound, sir,” the indignant paramedic sighed.

“I've had worse,” Vhetin said, rolling his sleeve down. “On many different occasions. I'll take care of it myself.”

“An unwise decision,” said a quiet voice. Vhetin looked over, his HUD picking out the figure of the Handmaiden standing in the shadows. She stepped into the light cast by the speeder's pulsing illuminators and folded her arms. “One should not be so quick to turn away medicinal aid. Especially one in your condition.”

Vhetin narrowed his eyes. “I don't have time for your insults, Handmaiden. Leave me alone.”

“There is nothing I would enjoy more,” the Handmaiden said, taking a seat on the bumper of the speeder ambulance. “Unfortunately for us both, your partner has requested that I keep an eye on you.”

Vhetin rolled his eyes. _“Shab, _Jay is determined to make us best friends, isn't she?”

The Handmaiden cracked a smile, the first Vhetin had ever seen from her. “Finally, some common ground.”

Vhetin shook his head. “What were you even doing here?”

She shifted her position uncomfortably. “I did not have faith you would find the evidence we seek. I was watching from the rafters throughout your exchange.”

“Even the part where the guy pulled a gun on me?”

“Of course.”

Vhetin raised an eyebrow. “And why didn't you intervene? Were you going to let him just shoot me?”

“I waited to gauge both your reaction and the intentions of the suspect,” was all she would say.

Vhetin shook his head with an exhausted sigh and they lapsed into an uneasy silence. Vhetin winced as the white armored medic tightened the bandage on his arm too clumsily.

“Hey _vod_,” he growled. “Go easy on the arm, yeah?”

“Here,” the Handmaiden said. “I have medicinal training. Allow me.”

The medic stepped back with arms raised in surrender and stalked away, muttering, “Kriffin' _beroyas_,” as he went. The Handmaiden took the bandages and, with much gentler hands, began wrapping Vhetin's bleeding arm.

Vhetin stared at her, watching as she pointedly avoided his gaze. Something was obviously on the Echani's mind

“What's the matter?”

She shook her head, keeping her gaze fixed on the bandages. “You... did well, chasing that suspect down. I could not keep up with you.”

“What, no deeper meaning than that?”

She shook her head. “No. After watching you in action, I am forced to admit a grudging respect for your abilities. You claim you are of the Kiffar Clans?”

“A sub-species of the full-blooded race,” Vhetin corrected, shifting in his seat slightly. “But yes.”

“Then your abilities are biological,” she continued. “Not borne of physical training.”

“My abilities are a combination of both,” Vhetin said. “Just because I can run faster or jump higher than the average being doesn't mean I don't continue to hone my talents as much as I can.”

“Admirable,” Handmaiden said. “But a true warrior does not rely solely on such advantages.”

“Normally I would agree,” he said. “But its not exactly something I can just turn off. So I use it while it can still be of use.”

“And yet you still managed to lose our suspect.”

“I was...” he sighed. “Look, I'm not in the best shape to be going one-on-one with other Mandalorians. This guy was too strong and too fast for me. I wont be taken by surprise next time.”

“And if there is no next time because of such a blunder?”

They lapsed into silence for a few moments before Handmaiden cleared her throat and said, “Among my people, even the smallest of younglings are taught not just in the ways of combat, but in the skill of Echani freerunning. This man seemed to display rudimentary talent in both.”

“Yeah,” Vhetin grimaced as she tightened the bandages painfully. “Among us Mandos, we call folks like that _slippery bastards_.'

She didn't smile. “Chasing him down without Echani training... well, it was very impressive.”

Ah. There was her purpose. She was jealous of his physical skills, jealous of the fact that there was at least one time a Mandalorian had been stronger, faster, and better than an Echani. He smiled a little behind his helmet; so he had finally found a weak spot in her facade of ice-cold calm and contempt.

“We Mandalorians don't exactly skimp on combat training either.”

“And yet your would-be killer escaped your grasp. Had our roles been reversed, I do not think he would have been so lucky.”

He sighed in exasperation. “Are you going to start lecturing me on the superiority of Echani training again?”

“I was thinking along those lines, yes.”

Vhetin rolled his eyes. “_Manda'yaim _save me.”

“I am not baseless in my assumptions,” Handmaiden said indignantly. “With Echani training, you would have been able to hold your ground against any attacker.”

He shook his head as she fastened his bandages and stepped away. “You keep saying how your training and your culture is so much better than mine. But you refuse to prove it.”

“I do not need to prove it,” she shot back. “It is common knowledge.”

Something then occurred to Vhetin, and he found his lips forming the words before he could stop them. He rose to his feet and said, “Teach me.”

That stopped her in her tracks. “What?”

He folded his arms, wincing only slightly. The more he thought about it, the more he realized it was a better idea than he had originally thought. “You say I failed to defend myself because I lack the superior training of your people. Let's pretend I agree with you. Prove that you're so much better and teach me to fight like you do.”

The Handmaiden stared at him for a few long moments, looking completely taken aback. Vhetin felt a small bit of satisfaction at seeing the warrior caught so off-balance.

“I... I cannot,” she finally stammered, shaking her head.

“Oh so that's how it's going to be,” he said with a knowing nod. “You carry on about how I can't compete with a warrior such as yourself, but you miraculously can't train me to be better. I understand.”

“I-it's not like that,” she pressed. “But there are very strict rules among my people. Only a select few outsiders may learn our ways of combat. To most, they are expressly forbidden.”

He took a step toward her. “You left your people behind. You said so yourself.”

“They are still my people,” she said, glaring at him. “I still live by their laws.”

“I'm a warrior,” Vhetin said, “like you. I hardly think it's all that different from teaching another Echani.”

“There is a great difference,” she said, moving to step past him. “You are not Echani. You do not follow our laws and our code. You are driven by a lust for vengeance, to dole out punishment rather than gain understanding about an opponent. With such an attitude, you will never be able to fully grasp our teachings. My decision stands. Goodbye, Mandalorian.”

He stepped in front of her, blocking her path. When she tried to side-step around him, he blocked her way again. She stepped back, narrowing her pale blue eyes at him.

“I do not find such behavior amusing.”

“It wasn't supposed to be,” he said, standing with his arms folded. “I'm not going to let this slide. I almost died because a single thug was able to beat me. Before that, I was held in captivity for months because a poorly-trained group of Imperial soldiers were able to overwhelm me. I won't let that happen again.”

“Your determination is commendable,” she grudgingly admitted. “But perhaps further Teras Kasi training is your solution. Very few outsiders have been able to master our form of martial arts. I doubt you would even progress past the first tier of study.”

“There's only one way to find out.”

Her face slowly began to turn down in a scowl and he decided to take a softer approach. Forcing the matter obviously wasn't going to work. He needed to tell her the real reasons he wanted to learn, so he sighed and uncrossed his arms, sitting back down again.

“Look,” he said, adopting a much quieter tone, “I'm asking for your help. I won't be taken captive again. I just won't. It almost broke me the first time around.”

He looked up at her, making sure to meet her gaze. He knew that she couldn't see his face through his battle helmet, but he had the feeling she would be able to tell anyway, that she would realize he was telling the truth.

“I was a slave,” he murmured, the pain in his voice very real. “I had no reasons to live, no goals to achieve, no causes to fight for. I lived each day wishing that I would drop dead on the spot, just to spare me the pain of living another day. It was the most horrible feeling I've ever experienced. I never want to feel that way again, and I'm asking for your help so that I can make that a reality.”

His words had a visible impact. Her eyes slowly widened, her face softened, and she took a small step away from him.

“Please,” he said, holding her pale blue gaze. “You know I wouldn't ask if I didn't think it would be important. We're both too proud for this to be trivial.”

“To be a slave...” she whispered, rubbing at the back of her neck. He noticed that was the third time she had done that since he'd met her. A nervous habit, maybe, or did it have a greater meaning? She finally sighed and closed her eyes. “I would never wish that fate on anyone. Not even an enemy.”

She slowly shook her head and moved to step away from him again. When she spoke, her voice was so soft he could barely hear it.

“I... I need time to think about this,” she whispered. “Please, let me be.”

He stared at her for a moment, then sighed and stepped aside. He watched her head toward the gathering of police speeders and disappear from sight after a knot of officers passed her. Then he cursed quietly and turned his gaze to the ground.

So much for that idea.

~~~~~~~~

**Keldabe Law Enforcement Office**

Denton shook his head. “No, no, there's got to be something. There were cams all over that place.”

The officer sitting in front of him shook his head and tapped into the holographic keyboard in front of him. “And I'm telling you there's nothing. Just blurs on the cam feeds. There's no point that this guy is facing the cams at a distinguishable angle. The best we can get is a weird blur.”

“Damn it,” Denton said, running a hand through his hair and turning away. “Ruusan, get down to the forensics lab. See what they were able to pull from the crime scene.”

“If they found anything,” the trainee muttered before turning and leaving the room.

“Dalin,” he said, patting the seated officer on the shoulder, “get down to the caf room. You've been on this case all day. Take five.”

“Yes sir,” the man sighed. “Glad to.”

Denton sighed, watching the man leave the room. Then he turned back to the console, rubbed his eyes, and said, “Damn it... why can't we track this guy down?”

Jay shrugged and adjusted her seat on a storage crate along the back wall. “He doesn't exactly leave evidence behind. Just collateral damage.”

“Yeah... still no word from D'harhan?”

“No,” Jay said. “And given everything else that's been going on here... well, I'm starting to get worried.”

“He's probably just found... I don't know, a nice-looking power socket,” Denton said. “Probably turned his comm off.”

“His comm set is surgically implanted into his secondary processing matrix,” she pointed out. “Basically his brain. He can't turn it off.”

“Then he's probably just being belligerent and ignoring you.”

He gestured to Jay. “Come on. Let's hit the mess hall for something to eat.”

He moved to head for the door, then suddenly stiffened when he saw who was standing in the doorway. Jay couldn't see who it was, since he was silhouetted against the light of the hall behind him. Denton must have known exactly who it was, as he instantly snapped to attention and saluted.

“Sir,” he said uncomfortably. “I didn't expect you here. I would have thought you'd be asleep like the rest of Keldabe.”

“You know the rumors,” the man in the door said, “I apparently never sleep.”

He took three heavy steps into the room, his full armor creaking as he stepped out of the light, revealing dark green armor with a brown mythosaur skull painted onto his yellow shoulder pads. His helmet was tucked under his arm revealing a bald head with a long scar across the back of his skull. His face was gaunt and pulled down in a furious scowl.

“And what business brings you here, sir?” Denton asked.

Tobbi Dala, the right-hand man of the _Mand'alor _himself, tucked his thumbs into his belt loops and said, “Oh, just heard some rumors about a madman brainwashing _beroyas _and using 'em as suicide bombers. Thought that would be something I'd want to get involved with. Especially considering the piss-poor job you seem to be doing stopping him.”

As Shysa's second-in-command and a former enforcement officer himself, Dala was the head of the entire coordinated police force across the entire planet. If he'd been an Imperial, he'd be the leader of the Imperial Intelligence Agency. His mandate was to investigate possible threats to Mandalorian planetary security and to ensure the protection of the Mandalore.

Dala surveyed the room with his customary scowl and nodded to Jay, who was sitting on a nearby storage crate. “Moqena. Should've known you'd show up somewhere in this.”

“Nice to see you too, Dala,” Jay said.

Denton dropped his salute and said, “Sir, we have everything under control here. You don't have to-”

Dala interrupted him. “Everything under control? You've got suicide bombers hopping around the city, blowing up shops and killing civilians and you've got everything under control?”

He stepped forward. “This is more dangerous than you seem to realize. So far they've hit a shop twice and jumped a _beroya_ on investigation. You've got multiple officers dead. Not injured, not incapacitated. _Dead_! And none of you seem to be any closer to finding the culprit!”

He clenched a fist and took another step forward, until they were almost nose-to-nose. “Now you tell me what's wrong with this picture. See what I'm seeing and _then_ you can tell me that you have _everything under control!_”

Jay blinked, slightly taken aback by Dala's fury and simultaneously surprised by Denton's ability to take it. “Dala, just calm-”

He spun on Jay, pointing a finger at her, “Stay out of this _aruetii_.”

He spun back to Denton. “We have brothers and sisters dying out there. In _our_ city. And you seem content to sit back and let it happen, Officer Dral.”

He spat the last words out, making Denton flinch. Dala narrowed his eyes, then said, “As of this moment you are no longer the leading officer on this case. You're going to back down and stop kriffing everything up. I'm taking control.”

Denton seemed to visibly deflate, but he still didn't move. He just blinked and said, “Sir.”

“Now,” Dala said, finally taking a step back, “you and Jay both are off-duty right now. Get away from this office, away from this case. We'll take it from here.”

“Sir, I can-”

Dala rounded on him again. “That's an order, Dral. I expect you to follow it. You've done enough damage as it is. You've gone over twenty-four hours and have nothing to show for it but a vague idea of a potential threat from an unknown enemy.”

“_Had_,” said another voice from the doorway.

Dala spun to face the newcomer, eyes blazing. Jay watched as Vhetin stepped into the room, hefting something bulky over one shoulder. Janada was following closely behind, a smug look on her face.

“What?” Dala demanded.

“He _had_ nothing to show for it.” Vhetin stepped forward and dropped the bulky contraption onto the desk between Denton and Dala. It hit with a loud metallic _clank_.

Dala gestured at the object and growled, “What the hell is this?”

“This is a prototype BioTech Shock Restraint,” Janada said. “I reconstructed the scan you guys sent my way, then sent out feelers to some contacts in big manufacturing corporations. It wasn't easy but-”

“Get to the point,” Dala snarled.

Janada blinked, then shrugged. “Charming as ever, Baldie.”

Vhetin stared at his sister. Jay knew he was warning her to back down. The mechanic seemed to get the message because she just shrugged and said, “Okay, short version. This shock collar was designed about six months ago for a small-time Imperial prison testing out prototype restraint systems. This getup was suppose to add... _incentive_ for prisoners to do some mining work for the prison. Extra revenue, right? Now, we've ruled out the Imps using these collars on our men, so we don't really know who's using these things now, but knowing where they originally came from is a big step forward.”

“So how does it work?” Jay asked, standing and stepping closer so she could see better.

“See this needle here?” Janada said, pointing at the device. “This sticks into the prisoner's spinal cord. At a command from the warden, the device sends an electrical impulse from this power pack here. The charge is sent through the accelerators and amplifiers set around the collar, incrementally increasing the charge as the warden desires. Then all the stored power is discharged through the needle and into the spine.”

“Side effects?” Denton asked.

“Aside from twitching like a Ewok that just took a stun round? If the charge is high enough, the prisoner's lungs and heart can freeze up. That's a problem for most people. If the charge is stronger, the heat dissipation can actually melt the spinal cord, causing complete paralysis and eventually death.”

“So what's this thing doing in Keldabe?”

“That's where it gets juicy,” Janada said with a grin. “About three months ago, the prison's entire supply of shock collars vanished. No arrests were made, no police mobilization was mounted, and as far as I can tell there weren't even any suspects. Just _poof_ and they were gone.”

“How many went missing?” Jay asked.

“Over fifty.”

Dala shook his head with a furious sigh. “Kriff me sideways.”

“It gets worse. The scans are different from the traditional collar.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning, genius, that whoever took the original prototypes has mechanical experience,” Janada said, rolling her eyes. “They're tinkering with the design. Improving it.”

“But who is doing it?”

Janada shrugged. “Like I said, there were no suspects.”

“In my experience,” Vhetin said quietly, “only two kinds of people are that good: master thieves and changelings.”

“Well, there aren't all that many master thieves working in Mandalorian space,” Janada said. “Too shabby.”

“So you think we're looking at a changeling?” Jay said. “Isn't that kind of a bold assumption?”

“Do you have a better idea?” Janada asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well... no. Not really.”

“It would explain why we can never positively ID our suspect,” Denton admitted. “It's a place to start, at least.”

“_Changelings_,” Dala said, spitting the word out like a curse. “So it could be anyone in Keldabe!”

“It could even be someone in this room,” Janada said with a shrug. “We'd never know.”

“Great,” Jay sighed. “Throw a little paranoia into the mix as well.”

Dala shook his head, then pointed at the collar. “Janada, I want you to get in touch with whoever you need to and find out everything you can about these collars. I want to know everything I can about this stuff.”

He then turned to Vhetin. “You seem to be the only one who can even guess what the kriff is going on here, so you're now our information source. Any questions I have are going to be relayed through you. I want you to pull out all the stops, call in every favor you can remember.”

“On it.”

“Head back to the warehouse until I say otherwise. Eventually I want you to interview the Zeltron in person. Last time she gave us info, you almost wound up dead. I'd say she knows more than she's letting on and you seem to be her favorite target.”

Dala finally turned to Denton and Jay. “You two. You're coming with me.”

Denton blinked, then moved to follow the older Mandalorian as he headed for the door. Jay followed close behind. “And what are we doing, sir?”

Dala growled, a rasping noise in the back of his throat. “We're going to hunt a changeling.”


	9. New Suspects

**Warehouse crime scene**

The Handmaiden grinned, an almost feral motion. “A changeling?”

Vhetin nodded. “That's right. A shapeshifter.”

Brianna shook her head and cursed. “Well that's just great. As if this job wasn't bad enough.”

“It would explain why we can't pin down his face on cams,” he pointed out. “I've seen changelings constantly shift their face to disguise their identity. One second they've got one face, then you blink and they've got a completely different one.”

“Why would a changeling want to kill Mandalorians?”

“If the person that ambushed me in the warehouse was the changeling,” Vhetin said, “then our target _is _Mandalorian.”

“That just makes it even more confusing,” Brianna said.

“Perhaps someone offered him a handful of credits?” Handmaiden offered.

Vhetin ignored the jibe. “I don't know what's going on here. But we're not leaving until we find out. A changeling that likes to kill is dangerous. A changeling that seems to have taken it upon himself to single-handedly start a war...”

“Even I must admit that does not sound appealing,” Handmaiden said as they set off toward the warehouse.

The warehouse was still crawling with enforcement officers, even at such early hours of the morning. The entire area had been sealed off and none of the building employees had been allowed to leave. Everywhere he looked, Vhetin could see officers interviewing exhausted employees that obviously didn't know any more. He could sympathize with the employees, but he had specifically ordered Trainee Ruusan to keep everyone from leaving. It was a long shot, but if they could narrow out who was missing from the pool of employees it might give his team a lead.

A small city of tents had sprung up for the enforcement officers and employees alike and it was this area of the warehouse that Vhetin made for. He stopped a nearby officer and said, “How are things holding up, _vod_?”

The man sighed, rubbing at the dark circles under his eyes. “Supplies are holding up well, but the border guard are having a hell of a time keeping the reporters out.”

“What story have you fed them?” Brianna asked.

He shook his head. “We're telling them the area is sealed off due to a potential infectious disease that was transferred from off world to the warehouse area. It's doing a good job to keep them out and it gives us and excuse to quarantine our suspects in the area, but it's not going to work forever.”

Vhetin put a hand on the man's armored shoulder. “Keep up the good work. With luck, this will all be over soon.”

“Sir.” The man saluted and slouched off back to his post.

Handmaiden watched him go with narrowed eyes. “I fear this camp has become little more than a potential target. If this changeling were to attack again, these soldiers would not put up much of a fight.”

“As soon as we have what we need,” Vhetin said, “we'll break up the camp and let everyone go home. But with a changeling on the loose, we can't take chances until we have some kind of lead.”

“About that,” said a new voice. Vhetin turned to see Trainee Ruusaan emerge from between two tents. “I have some information for you.”

“My favorite words,” Vhetin sighed in relief. “Hit me.”

“You're not going to like it.”

“Of course not,” Brianna sighed. “That would be too easy.”

“Back at headquarters? Our Zeltron suspect is gone.”

Vhetin's face turned down in a scowl. She was their only lead so far. If she escaped, or the changeling got to her... “What do you mean _gone_?”

“Her holding cell had a power shortage and we lost cams,” Ruusan explained. “When we sent officers to repair and investigate, she was gone.”

“Think she had outside help?”

“I don't know,” Ruusan admitted. “But we investigated the shortage and found that someone had fired a stun round into the power junction to her cell.”

“So her escape was premeditated,” the Handmaiden mused. “Someone wished her to escape.”

“Maybe,” Ruusan said. “Maybe they just wanted her to run. Throw our investigation off the scent.”

Brianna raised an eyebrow. “So she was covering something up when we interviewed her.”

“When did this happen?” the Handmaiden asked, narrowing her eyes and tilting her head curiously.

“About an hour ago,” Ruusan supplied. “We're not sure how we lost her, but she managed to escape the station without anyone seeing her. She's gone.”

“Great,” Brianna sighed. “This just gets better and better.”

“It may better than you might think,” Vhetin said. He pulled a handheld datapad from his belt and began tapping into it.

Brianna watched him for a few moments before saying, “Well? Are you going to share?”

He didn't look away. The datapad eventually beeped and he nodded in satisfaction. “Ever since we left the enforcement office, Callie Mapular has been outfitted with a tracer beacon. I figured something like this would happen at some point.

“How did you manage to accomplish that?” Handmaiden asked.

“He didn't,” Trainee Ruusan said. “I did.”

“Why?”

“Before heading to the warehouse,” Vhetin explained, “Callie was our only suspect. I wasn't going to let her pull something like this without a contingency plan, but Jay wasn't listening to me. I needed an agent on the inside.”

“And I was willing to lend a hand.”

“Why?” Handmaiden repeated.

“Don't get me wrong,” Ruusan said, “I have nothing but the utmost respect for Officer Dral. But he's in way over his head here and he doesn't know what he's doing. I think Dala stepping in was the best thing that's happened for this investigation so far. And Vhetin here seems to be the only one who's thinking ahead. I figured they're our ticket to solving this case.”

“Did you have any intention of telling us?” Brianna asked Vhetin, sounding offended that she wasn't included in these plans.

“Not until Callie pulled something,” Vhetin said curtly. “She did and now you know.”

“If she has a tracker on her, where is she?”

“One minute... ah, interesting. She's here in the camp.”

“What?” Ruusan said with a frown. “But our border patrol is solid! No one has managed to sneak past.”

“This scan shows that she's in the warehouse. Back room, storage area. I wonder what she's doing there?”

“Do you think she could be in contact with whoever is behind these bombings?” Ruusan asked. “The fried junction at the station suggests she has someone on the inside.”

“Possibly,” Vhetin said, uploading Callie's location to his HUD so he could track her more efficiently. “But if our suspect is a changeling, it wouldn't be hard to impersonate an officer as well. Your border patrol wouldn't even slow him down.”

Ruusan shook her head. “This just isn't fair. A killer who can imitate anyone? How're we supposed to track someone like that down?”

“One way to find out,” Brianna said, glancing back toward the warehouse. She frowned, her voice trailing off. “Wait, where the hell is the Handmaiden?”

Vhetin looked up as well to find that the Echani was indeed nowhere to be found. She must have slipped off once she heard where the Zeltron was. He narrowed his eyes and spat a curse.

“Damn it,” he said, heading off toward the warehouse. “She must be going after Callie.”

If the Handmaiden managed to get to the target first, there was no telling what she'd do. She might kill the Zeltron just to spite the Mandalorians on the team. He wasn't about to let that smug Echani ruin this hunt.

“Ruusan,” Vhetin said, breaking into a run, “Let a squad of officers together. We're taking Callie in for good this time.”

“And if the Handmaiden resists?”

He didn't hesitate. “Take her in too.”

~~~~~~~~

Callie threw the lid off the storage crate and rummaged around inside, tossing out ammunition clips and modkits until she found the hidden compartment at the bottom. She pried open the lid and pulled out one of the small, rectangular foil-wrapped packages stored inside. She closed her eyes and murmured a quiet thanks, then tucked the package into her jacket pocket. She pulled off the rucksack she'd stolen from the enforcement office and began loading more foil-wrapped packets into the backpack.

Those gold-armored idiots couldn't get at this. She'd worked too hard, sacrificed too much, to have it all stolen away from her now.

She had been glad when the power had shorted out in her cell. She'd known her boss wouldn't have let her rot. What frightened her now was the punishment she knew she was going to face. He didn't take failure lightly.

_But I didn't fail him_, she thought to herself as she loaded more packages into the rucksack. _I didn't tell them anything. At least not anything important. They still think this was all about Matt. They don't know how big it really is_.

That was what truly frightened her; how dangerous her employers were. Her boss was deadly enough if angered, but even he was merely an underling, in the employ of someone far more frightening and _much_ more dangerous.

She was an _aruetii_, and didn't care one way or another about the Mandalorians or their politics. But something about her employers, the way they spoke and planned and acted... they were _different_. They were a force to be reckoned with.

She closed her eyes and forced herself to take a deep breath. _It's going to be all right_, she thought. _Just get the stuff out of here, get back to them, and they'll get you off planet before those investigators can track you down_.

She was so busy with her task that she didn't see the white-clad form that dropped silently down from the rafters. She didn't look up as the woman in white drew a small cylinder from her belt. It was only when two durasteel beams sprang from either end of the cylinder with a metallic scrape that she spun around and drew her pistol. She immediately opened fire at the white figure.

The Handmaiden backflipped swiftly and all the blaster bolts slashed through open air. She somersaulted behind a storage crate, tucking her head down so the Zeltron woman couldn't get a shot at her. She narrowed her eyes, listening for the telltale click that signified an empty blaster magazine.

“Why, Zeltron?” Handmaiden called out. “Why betray those who sought to help you?”

“I've worked kriffing hard to get where I am today,” Callie shouted back. “And I'll be damned if I let a white-haired freak like you end it all!”

“You are putting this investigation in jeopardy, Zeltron_. _I will not allow that to happen.”

“You have no idea, do you Echani?” Callie laughed. “No idea who you're up against.”

“It does not matter. Any enemy, no matter how powerful, can fall. If you are worried about your personal safety-”

“_No_!” Callie shouted. Handmaiden tensed when she heard a small beep and something metallic bounced across the floor beyond her storage create. Her instincts screamed _thermal detonator _and she threw herself into a tight roll into the center of the room. The Zeltron opened fire again, but the Handmaiden had anticipated the attack and leaped out of the way. She rolled to her feet and cocked her arm back before throwing her quarterstaff like a spear. The weapon sliced through the air, striking the woman in the stomach and making her double over in pain.

Handmaiden took advantage of the distraction and hurled herself forward before the Zeltron could recover. The thermal detonator exploded behind her, peppering her back with chips of duracrete torn up from the floor. She ignored it, having eyes only for the Zeltron woman. She jumped up and hit her opponent in the chest with her outstretched boot. Callie was knocked off her feet and slammed back against the wall. Her head hit against the surface of the wall with a sickening _crack_ and she slid slowly down to the floor, letting out a groan.

Handmaiden grabbed the woman by the front of her jacket and hauled her to her feet, pinning her against the wall. She slapped the woman to bring her back to consciousness. “Zeltron. You are going to provide me with the information I seek or I swear I will kill you.”

The woman blinked groggily. “Wh-why? Why fight so hard for Mandalorians?”

“Mandalorians or not,” Handmaiden spat, the words almost leaving a bad taste in her mouth, “they are innocents. And I will not allow you to harm any more.”

“What are you talking about?”

The Handmaiden slapped her again, harder this time. “Do not toy with me, Zeltron. Who is your employer and where is his location?”

She heard the sounds of heavy bootsteps behind her and turned her head slightly to see Cin Vhetin and his allies sprint around the corner weapons drawn. They took aim at her and her captive while the black-armored man called, “Handmaiden! Put her down.”

She pinned Callie against the wall with one gloved hand around her neck and turned to face the man with blazing blue eyes. “Give me five minutes and I will have the location of her employer.”

“Put. Her. Down.”

She cursed and spun back to the Zeltron woman, tightening the hand around her throat. “By the Gods, tell me the name of your employer or I swear I shall make these last few moments of your life as painful as possible.”

A choked sputtering sound was all the sound she was able to muster. She heard Vhetin and his allies charging their weapons and Vhetin called, “I'm not going to warn you again, Handmaiden. Put the woman down or we'll be forced to open fire.”

She turned to him again. “Give me but a moment and I will have the information we seek.”

“You'll kill her!”

“Her fate was sealed when she eluded the Mandalorians guarding her,” she hissed. “Give me the time I ask.”

“I can't do that, Echani.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you willing to risk the success of this mission because of your petty hatred of me? Set aside your false beliefs of my actions and allow me the time I ask. I will have the name.”

She saw his aim falter slightly and pressed her advantage. “I ask you to stay your hand for but a moment. After we have the information we seek, you may do with me as you wish.”

He hesitated, still uncertain and she visibly softened her gaze. “I am asking you to trust me.”

He wavered for a few moments more, then lowered his pistol and motioned for his companions to do the same. “Weapons down guys. Give her what she wants.”

The Handmaiden nodded once in thanks, then turned swiftly back to the Zeltron woman. She slammed her against the wall again before leaning in close, until they were almost nose-to-nose. “Tell me who you are working for and you will be granted the privilege of a quick and painless death.”

The Zeltron choked and sputtered, “I'm... not telling you... anything... kriffing white-head.”

The Handmaiden's blood boiled. She drew a vibroblade from her belt and stabbed it into the Zeltron woman's abdomen. The woman's eyes widened in horror and she let out a choked scream of pain. Out of her peripheral vision she saw the human female huntress raise her weapon again but Vhetin grabbed her arm and forced the weapon back down again.

“Tell me,” the Handmaiden snarled. “Things will only worsen for you until you speak.”

“K-kriff you...”

Handmaiden twisted the blade with one swift jerk of her wrist. “_Speak_!”

“Coro Caranthyr!” the woman suddenly screamed. “I was hired by Coro Caranthyr!”

The Handmaiden nodded. “I thank you, and hope you find peace in the afterlife of your choosing.”

Then, with a sharp twist, she snapped the woman's neck.

~~~~~~~~

Vhetin instantly drew his weapon again, his new HUD's targeting systems focusing in on the Handmaiden's forehead. He shifted his balance, ready to leap forward if need be. If this degraded to a fight, he wasn't sure he could take on the Echani in the state he was in.

“Put the blade down,” he said slowly, “and put your hands on your head.”

“I provided her a courtesy,” Handmaiden murmured, maintaining her grip on the knife.

“You killed her in cold blood!”

“I provided you the name of your next lead.”

“I should never have trusted you,” he growled. “Put your hands on your head and we can all go home in one piece.”

She shrugged and dropped the bloody vibroblade, slowly raising her hands and placing them behind her hooded head. “As you wish.”

Vhetin gestured for Trainee Ruusaan to move in. The woman cautiously stepped forward, lowering her weapon only long enough to pull a pair of binders from her belt, then cuffed the Echani's hands behind her back. The Handmaiden didn't offer any resistance and allowed Ruusaan to haul her away. She did, however, pause next to Vhetin and murmur, “You have your lead. I suggest you use it.”

Then Ruusan shoved her away, heading for the door. Vhetin made sure they were out of sight, then holstered his pistol and snapped, “_Fierfek_!”

He gestured to one of the officers next to him. “Get Dala on the line. He needs to know what's going on here. He can investigate this Caranthyr guy.”

“Sir.”

Brianna, meanwhile, was standing over Callie's body. She sighed, then slowly knelt and gently closed the Zeltron woman's eyes. She shook her head. “What a waste.”

“I knew bringing her along was a bad idea,” Vhetin said, kneeling next to her. “Jay's going to have a fit when she finds out.”

“You let her carry on,” Brainna point out.

“I didn't know that Echani bitch was going to kriffing snap our suspect's _neck_!”

“Fair point, I guess.” Brianna looked around the room, sitting back on her heels. She shook her head, staring at the dead Zeltron. “I don't get it. What did Callie stand to gain from sneaking away from the enforcement office and coming back here?”

“She obviously had something stashed here that she didn't want us to find,” Vhetin said, standing again and stepping over to the crate Callie had been rummaging through. His helmet scanners weren't picking up anything out of the ordinary. He pushed the lid up and reached inside, pushing aside sacks of grassgrain seed and fertilizer.

“Ah,” he quickly said. “Here we go.”

All it took was a little pressure on the bottom of the crate and the metal bottom popped up, revealing a hidden compartment stuffed with pouches of a scarlet powdery substance. He gently removed one of the pouches, weighing it in his hand. He then tossed it to Brianna.

“What do you think?” he said. “About a kilo? One point five?”

“Around that, yeah,” she murmured, rising to her feet. She glanced over at the rucksack Callie had been carrying. She lifted it up and pulled it open, glancing inside. She sighed. “More in here. I guess she knew more about the drug trade than she let on.”

She looked up at him. “What's the street value of this stuff?”

“If this is Red Spice,” Vhetin said, counting the pouches, “and if Janada's intel was correct, there's about ten thousand credits in this case alone. And if there are more cases like this scattered around the warehouse...”

Brianna whistled. “No wonder Callie tried to get back to this stuff. If the enforcement office got wind of this, she'd lose a fortune.”

“And so would Caranthyr,” Vhetin said. “In my experience, people who deal in spice are more afraid of their suppliers than their own profits.”

“I know,” Brianna said. “You're not the only one with experience hunting junkies.”

“I'm just saying-”

“I've had more than my fair share of contracts on Nar Shadda,” Brianna snapped, standing up and shutting the lid of the crate with force. “I know how this works.”

“Okay,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. “Forget I said anything.”

He turned back to the remaining officer standing guard. “Get to the security post and lock down this area. And for the love of _te Manda_, don't let the reporters snooping around get a look at the Handmaiden.”

The man saluted. “Yes sir.”

As the officer turned and left the room, Vhetin's sensors picked up Brianna's bootsteps behind him. Moments later, he felt her hand on his shoulderplate.

“Cin...”she said slowly, “I'm sorry. It's just-”

He shifted out of her reach. “You don't need to explain yourself to me.”

“But-”

“I need to call Janada,” he interrupted, then stepped away and left the room. He turned around a corner, then tapped a code into his gauntlet holoprojector. The device buzzed once, twice, then Janada's figure sprang to life in mid-air above his gauntlet as a blue-white hologram.

“_Hey little bro_,” she said. “_Something up?_”

“We've had a... disturbing development,” he said. “We came back to the warehouse to find Callie Mapular sneaking in trying to salvage a massive shipment of Red Spice.

Janada pulled a face. “_Nasty stuff. Figured it would show up again. What did she have to say for herself?”_

“Not much,” Vhetin sighed. “She's dead.”

“_That's not surprising. People like her are... wait, what?”_

“She's dead,” Vhetin repeated. “The Handmaiden tortured her, then killed her when she gave up the name of her employer.”

Janada rubbed her eyes wearily. Her hologram flickered and swam with static for a moment before stabilizing again. “_I told you that Echani was trouble. What did you do with her?”_

“What could I do?” he replied. “I arrested her.”

His sister threw her head back and laughed. “_Great use of your special investigative powers, _vod_.”_

“It's for the good of this hunt,” Vhetin said. “I can't let her go snapping the necks of every suspect we manage to track down.”

“_Probably for the best_,” she shrugged. “_But I get the idea that's not the only reason you called.”_

“I need...” he grimaced. “I need a favor from you. A... substantial favor.”

She frowned in confusion, then said, “_Oh no. No, no, no. You're not gonna ask me to reach out to my old dealers, are you?”_

“I... yeah. Dala's already asked you to reach out to your old contacts. I'm just... suggesting a few more.”

“_Bro, you _know_ that'll violate my parole terms! If I get caught, they'll send me back to prison. Not the cozy Imperial jail up in Bone City. _Prison_!”_

“I know,” Vhetin said. “But _vode_ are dying out here. It's our duty to bring this guy to justice, whoever he is.”

“_Fierfek_,” she snapped. She struggled over the decision for a few moments. Vhetin knew he was asking a lot of his sister. She'd always been sensitive about her time in prison due to her old drug habits, and had promised herself she would never go back. He knew Janada was willing to walk through hell for her family, but he wouldn't be surprised if she refused him now.

But then she scowled and said, “_Don't you ever let me catch you saying I don't do anything for you, _vod_. I'm only doin' this 'cause you're my brother.”_

“I know. And I appreciate it.”

“_You'd better_,” she growled.

“Thanks.”

“_Don't mention it. Like, ever. Bralor out.”_

He signed off the comm, then closed his eyes, wishing he could rub his throbbing temples. Then he flagged down a passing officer and said, “Get me a hololink to Tobbi Dala.”

~~~~~~~~

“Coro Caranthyr?” Dala growled. “Who is that?”

“_Don't know,”_ Vhetin's hologram replied, folding his armored gauntlets across his chest. “_Callie wasn't specific. Just that he hired her._”

Jay shook her head, cursing her stupidity. Why hadn't she ordered Handmaiden to come with them? Now their number one suspect was dead and Les was locked in in one of the city jail cells. And because of the Echani's hotheaded actions, they only had the name of this Coro Caranthyr to go on. She made a mental note to talk to Les when she got back, whether the Echani was still in jail or not.

“Is he Mando?” Dala continued.

“_We're not sure. He doesn't have a record with the Keldabe Enforcement Office. He's a ghost.”_

“Think he could be our changeling?”

Vhetin shrugged. “_It would explain a lot. If he's Mandalorian, it would explain how he knows the Keldabe drug trade, why a Mando assassin jumped me at the warehouse... But at this point, we just don't have enough intel to make a guess.”_

“So do we know where he is?” Jay asked.

“_Janada's sending out feelers to some contacts from her past. If she finds something, you guys will be the first to know.”_

Dala scowled. “Do you have any good news for us?”

“_The Handmaiden's actions were at least partially beneficial,_” Vhetin said. “_We've gained access to all of Callie's personal files from her datapad. We've analyzed her schedules and found that she frequently traveled to an area of uptown Keldabe. We think that's where Caranthyr might operate._”

“Got an address?”

“_Two-Eight-Sixteen Ganiir Quadrant,”_ Vhetin obediently supplied. “_It's a former Imperial Garrison that was shut down because of hazardous materials in the construction_. _Enforcement officers have had the place under surveillance for quite a bit._”

“Who's on the case?”

“_Funnily enough, our own Trainee Ruusaan. She's en route to give you a briefing now_. _Should be at your location at any minute now._”

“Okay,” Dala said. “Keep up the good work, but also keep that Echani freak behind bars until further notice. She's done enough to jeopardize this hunt as it is.”

“_With pleasure. Vhetin out_.”

The hologram sputtered out, leaving them to wait for Ruusaan's speeder to come pick them up. After about ten minutes, a gold enforcement office speeder turned around the corner and pulled up next to them. The door slid open, revealing Ruusaan in the driver's seat.

“Hey guys,” she said. “So I hear you're in the market for a drug dealer?”

Jay smiled, but Dala merely grunted and motioned for Denton to form up. They clambered into the speeder and Ruusan immediately set off.

“Sitrep,” Dala grunted.

“We're headed to a suspected traffic hub for outlawed drugs,” Ruusan explained. “We've been watching these guys for a long time, but we don't have any conclusive evidence yet.”

“We will,” Denton said. “Any info on this Caranthyr guy?”

“No,” Ruusan said. “We haven't seen him. Haven't heard of him. No other known aliases, no one around town who knows who he is. Even Aramis and the _Oyu'baat_ crowd don't know who he is and that, personally, is what scares me the most.”

“Maybe he's a newcomer to the city?” Jay ventured.

“Unless he just walked in yesterday,” Ruusan said, “Aramis would have tabs on him. If not Aramis then the Imperials would have something. But the Imps don't know a damn thing either.”

“It's probably a cover name, then,” Denton said. “No one can cover their tracks that well.”

“If he's a changeling,” Dala said, “anything's possible. I'm not takin' any chances with this guy. If we find him here and he gives us trouble, take him out.”

“Sir,” Denton said slowly, “considering he's our only suspect-”

“If he is this spice dealer we've been looking for,” Dala said, “he's the highest link in the chain we've got. We take him out, everything under him falls apart.”

“And if he's not the highest link in the chain?” Denton asked. “What if he's just another lackey?”

“Then whoever he's working for will have to take time to replace assets,” Dala growled. “Giving us time to track his murdering ass down.”

They turned a corner and Ruusan announced they were coming up on their destination. Jay shifted uncomfortably. She knew they wouldn't receive a warm welcome when they arrived, so she undid the safety buckle on her blaster holster just in case she needed to draw the weapon quickly.

Denton noticed the motion and smiled at her encouragingly. “Nervous?”

She nodded. “I always am before a mission.”

“It'll be okay. They're just small-time drug peddlers. Not exactly your usual hunting targets, Jay.”

“A bolt from a drug dealer's gun will kill you just as dead as one from a merc,” Dala growled. “Just 'cause these guys aren't as notorious as contract targets doesn't make them less dangerous.”

“I'm just saying-”

Dala grunted and shifted in his seat, throwing them all into silence. Denton waited a few moments, then cleared his throat and said, “So Ruusan, who do we have on scene?”

“A couple officers from the local precinct,” the young officer dutifully replied. “We've had a few sharpshooters casing the building for the past few days. If this op goes south, we can call them in to clear out any dealers left over.”

“The priority is to take them alive,” Denton said. “We need to interrogate them and see if we can figure out who they're working for.”

“I still want everyone on high alert,” Dala said. “We're not going to get a second chance at this and if that changeling is out there somewhere any one of our men could be a potential threat. I want eyes and ears open at all times and scanning equipment running non-stop. We're not going to be taken by surprise again. If the targets give us trouble, we drop them. Understood?”

Denton cleared his throat. “Sir-”

“Am I _understood_, Officer Dral?”

Denton sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Understood, sir.”

Jay reached over and squeezed the officer's shoulder reassuringly. Denton was working hard on this case and it was obviously difficult for him to have Dala taking over. She had to admit, despite a vicarious respect for Dala because of her time spent with Mandalorian Protectors like Rame or Vhetin who looked up to the man, she didn't think much of Shysa's right-hand man. He was cold and gruff, unwilling to listen to the ideas of others and far too easy to provoke. She knew Dala had to be a skilled fighter, since Shysa probably wouldn't trust him if he wasn't, but she was finding it increasingly difficult to willingly put her life in this man's hands.

“We're here,” Dala said as they pulled up to a rickety old building that looked like it had been condemned several times over. There was a faded wooden sign hanging over the door that read _ANTANIA'S HERBS_.

“Herbs,” Ruusan muttered. “Yeah right. It's almost like they want to be caught.”

“Circle around the block,” Dala said, narrowing his eyes. “We'll enter our outpost from the back so the junkies can't get a good look at us.”

“Sir.”

As they continued around the block, Jay found herself wondering what Vhetin was doing right now. With Les in jail and no other leads, what was her partner getting himself into? She felt bad leaving him alone with Brianna while relations between the two were obviously still raw, but she had to help Denton track down this changeling. He would have to find a way to deal with his ex-girlfriend.

And it was still bothering her that D'harhan had failed to check in. His absence was now too obvious to be anything coincidental. He wasn't late or lost in the city; he was missing, and that made Jay feel even less safe while tracking down their killer.

This mission was getting worse and worse all the time. It seemed there was no end to the complications they were being faced with.

Their speeder glided easily into the space behind the outpost, drawing her from her worrying. There were two officers in plain gray armor waiting for them, rifles held at the ready. They saluted when Dala emerged from the car and offered respectful nods to Denton as they approached.

“What's the situation?” Dala asked with a frown.

“We've got six targets holed up in the building across the street, sir,” one of the officers said, leading them inside. “We took the shop owner, Antania Kotal, into custody last week so it's a good bet they're on to our investigation. As of right now, though, they don't seem to know we've got eyes on their headquarters.”

“What about Caranthyr? Any idea who that is?”

“No sir,” the officer said, “but some of our undercover agents say that this trafficking business is just a link in a city-wide drug chain. It's a good bet your Caranthyr guy is some kind of overseer for the whole operation.”

“Can he be our primary target?”

“Your changeling killer? Sorry sir, but if your intel's right there's absolutely no way to know until you catch him.”

“What's your suggestion, sir?” Denton asked Dala.

Dala narrowed his eyes, thinking for a moment, then said, “If we take out this post, Caranthyr will be forced into action. He won't be able to let his lackeys fall into our hands and expect his operation to stay a secret. Best case scenario is that he comes in himself to tie up loose ends. Worse case, he sends another goon to take care of his problems, which gives us another lead.”

He clapped the gray-armored officer's shoulder pad. “Get your men ready. We're going in.”

“Sir. We'll be ready in fifteen.”

“Make it ten.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Jay asked. “We have enough on our plate as it is. Stirring up the local drug trade isn't going to make our job any easier.”

“I've made my decision,” Dala said, grabbing a rifle from a rack on the wall. “Either stick to it or get out of the way of the people who will.”

Jay looked to Denton for support, but the Mandalorian simply shrugged helplessly and grabbed a rifle as well. “I suggest you get some combat armor, Jay. That armorleather jacket of yours isn't going to cut it in a firefight.”

“I'll show you the way, ma'am,” a gray-armored officer suggested. “We don't have many female suits, but you could take Officer Alinya's kit. She's on leave for the week.”

“Thanks.”

“We'll need every gun we can get once we're in there,” the officer said. “These drug peddlers may not all be Mandalorians, but they're still vicious. And they've got the firepower to hold their own against _Mando'ad _tech.”

The officer led her to a small room outfitted with more weapon racks and several mannequins set up to hold armor suits. All the armor suits and helmets were the same slate-gray color, devoid of any kind of markings or insignias.

“Special raid armor,” the officer explained. “We wipe 'em clean of any kind of markings to protect the wearers. If these drug dealers are tied up with something bigger like Black Sun, we can't risk them tracking our agents and getting at their friends or family.”

“That's comforting,” Jay said, running a hand over the shoulder pad of what was to be her borrowed armor. “Are drugs that big a problem in the city?”

“We have a flourishing drug trade across Mandalore,” the officer said. “One of the few things Mandos frown upon and aren't freely traded on the streets.”

“And that's the only reason its so popular?”

“The fact that it's outlawed is what makes it so fun.”

Jay rolled her eyes. “I guess some things carry across cultures.”

The officer grinned. “We Mandos aren't as foreign as you may think. You've lived with us for a while, Miss Moqena. You should know that by now.”

She chuckled. “Yeah. I guess I should.”

He nodded and stepped toward the door. “I'll give you some privacy. We're moving in five.”

~~~~~~~~

Jay emerged from the armory a few minutes later, dressed from head to toe in Mandalorian battle armor. She noticed Denton standing outside the door, dressed in the greens and reds of a Mandalorian Protector. Despite being well-known as Boba Fett's color scheme or the official uniform of the mercenary Protector army, the greens and reds of the armor provided remarkable anonymity for the wearer. As long as he kept his helmet on, he'd just be another Protector merc on contract with the enforcement office. No one would know better.

He looked up as she stepped outside, then raised his eyebrows in surprise. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Well?” Jay asked, spreading her arms. “How do I look?”

“Like a badass,” he replied. “How do you feel?”

She gave and exaggerated shrug, testing the range of motion her armor provided. “It's... heavy. Really heavy.”

“That's to be expected,” he said. “Think you can move in that armor?”

“I can move,”she assured him. She smiled sheepishly and admitted, “But don't expect me to move all that fast.”

“You should count yourself lucky. Most _aruetiise_ can barely stand in full _beskar'gam_. Too bulky and restrictive.”

“I owe it to Cin,” she said. “He had me train in _beskar_ sparring armor. It was lighter than this, but not by much.”

“Your partner was obviously thinking ahead.”

“Probably,” she said, adjusting her vambraces as they set off toward the main gathering point. She hesitated, then said, “Do you really think we're going to draw Caranthyr out with this plan?”

“Honestly?” he replied. “No. I think Dala's a competent warrior, but he seems a little too...”

“Zealous,” Jay provided. “Like he has something invested in bringing this Caranthyr guy down.”

“Or he knows something we don't.”

She frowned. “I don't think he'd hide intel from us.”

“Dala is one of the most powerful and influential Mandalorians in the galaxy. He can do what he wants when he wants to. If he thinks we don't need to know something about this case, he'll keep it from us without a second thought. He's predictable that way.”

“That's stupid.”

“That's Tobbi Dala,” Denton said with a shrug. “His methods have served him well since before the Clone Wars, and he's got no mind to change them now.”

“Can we trust him?” Jay said uneasily.

“Dala lives for the Mandalorian way,” he replied. “We can trust him to stick to what he believes True Mandalorians should do. And in this case, he thinks that storming this hideout will draw Caranthyr out. We'll just have to wait and see.”

Jay sighed and thought, _I hope Vhetin is having better luck than we are_.

~~~~~~~~

“I want everyone to maintain a level head during this raid,” Dala was saying, helmet tucked under his arm and face pulled down in a now-familiar scowl. He was outfitted in his typical green-red Protectors armor that had a red Mythosaur skull, the _Mand'alor_'s seal, emblazoned across the shoulder pads. “Take people alive if you can, but don't play hero. We've already lost enough _vode_ to these crazies and I'm in no mood to sacrifice more. If they give you trouble, take them out.”

“Sir,” one officer said, “what if the primary target is there? We don't know what he looks like. He could be any one of the people we take down.”

“Our best intelligence suggests that our primary target, Coro Caranthyr, is a changeling of unknown species,” Dala explained. “Clawdite, Yslari, Gurlanin, we don't know. That makes him very, very dangerous. So I want everyone working on a buddy system. Team up with a fellow officer and _do not_ let that partner out of your sight. If our changeling is there, he could shift to mimic one of you. I don't want that to happen.”

“Sir.”

Jay raised her hand. Dala nodded to her and she said, “And what about this Red Spice stuff? How are we supposed to deal with that?”

“Once we clear the area,” Dala said, “Drug Control will be down here to sweep the building and try to find any clues. They'll inform us of any leads to other drug hubs around the city. Even if Caranthyr doesn't show his shape-shifting ass here, if we hit enough of his businesses he'll be forced into action.”

“So we'll be hunting down drug traffickers across the city?”

“No,” Dala said. “Our primary target is Caranthyr, not the Red Spice. We'll leave the drug hubs to other officers.”

He turned his gaze to the other officers. “Any other questions? No? Then get to your stations.”

As the groups broke up and prepared to get to work, Jay felt her comm unit buzz. She fumbled slightly in her new armor to grab the device, then hooked it into her ear and powered it on.

“Jay Moqena,” she said. “Who is this?”

“_It's Janada,_” said a quiet female voice. “_Got a sec to talk?_”

Jay frowned and moved to a quieter corner of the room. “How did you get this number?”

“_Cin gave it to me. Said you were slumming it out with the Goldies._”

“Enforcement Office,” Jay corrected. “Not Goldies.”

“_Whatever_,” the woman replied. “_Point is, I've got some intel for you._”

“Can it wait? We're about to raid a drug outpost.”

“_No it can't. It's about Caranthyr._”

Jay paused. “Okay. Talk away, then.”

“_So Cin asked me to reach out to some of my old contacts from back when I was a Spice addict, right? Well, I managed to get in touch with some of those assholes and ask them about that collar of yours. They pointed me to some other guys-_”

“Clock's ticking,” Jay reminded her. “Can you jump to the important part?”

“_Oh, right. Well you know how I told you that your collar was originally made by the Imperials? Well, I tracked the manufacturer of our new collar to this little asteroid colony way out on the Outer Rim. Apparently it's staffed by pirates or something like that, and they were the ones that stole the collars from the Imperials. Now they're manufacturing the collars themselves and using them to keep slaves working on producing __–__ surprise, surprise __–__ Red Spice_.”

“Okay,” Jay said. “So we know where this stuff is coming from. That'll make it easier to take down the supply across the city.”

“_Oh, I already have plans to hand the info over to the Imperials. For a hefty finder's fee of course.”_

“Of course,” Jay said. “So what does this have to do with Caranthyr?”

“_Well, those same contacts told me that this little asteroid colony is lorded over by Mandalorians.”_

“I didn't know Mandos were in the drug trade,” Jay said. “That's Black Sun's turf. Maybe even Bloody Dawn.”

“_We're all different, I guess. My contacts had heard the name Caranthyr before but had never seen him. All they knew was that he was a Mando. But they kept touching on one point, saying that he wasn't like other Mandos. He was meaner, more aggressive._”

“So what does this have to do with my current situation?”

She heard a sigh from the other end of the line. “_You might want to go someplace quiet. No ears to overhear you_.”

“Why?”

“_Just do it_.”

Jay frowned, then moved into an adjoining hall, deserted save for a little mouse droid twittering away as it zig-zagged down the hall. “Okay, go ahead.”

“_Well, it doesn't make sense to me,_” Janada said in an even quieter voice. “_If this junkie-town asteroid was run by _Mando'ade_, why would they be slapping their own brothers and sisters in shock collars and turning them into living explosives?”_

“I don't know,” Jay said. “Isn't that what we're supposed to be finding out?”

“_Yeah, but then it occurred to me: what if they _aren't_ Mandos_?”

Jay paused. “I... guess that's possible. I mean, lots of people wear Mandalorian armor without actually joining your culture. Fett, for example.”

“_No, no, no... _shab_...”_

“What's wrong?”

There was a long pause from the other end of the line, then Janada cursed and murmured, “_How much do you know about the Death Watch_?”


	10. Deception

**Keldabe Enforcement Office**

Vhetin shook his head, wishing he could get some sleep. The events of the past day had drained him, especially considering his already-weakened condition. He had purged preservative fluid from his lungs twice more since they had taken the Handmaiden into custody. He'd been forced to dispose of the slime with a steady gout of fire from his new flamethrower. Then he had doused the area outside with medical sterilization fluid before he was satisfied it was no longer harmful to others.

The mess at the warehouse had been cleaned up and all the employees had been released back to the public after Callie's death. The local HoloNet news crews had been told that the proposed infectious outbreak had all been a false alarm due to improper Imperial procedure. The Mandalorian news reporters had eaten the lie up and dispersed, eager to find more evidence of the incompetence of the local Imperial garrison. Vhetin was sure the Empire wouldn't be too happy about the poor publicity, but that wasn't his concern. Besides, the Empire had a vested interest in stopping these bombings as well; if it looked like they couldn't protect their own citizens, then anti-Imperial sentiment in the city could quickly turn to armed revolution. No one wanted that, so the Empire would play along. For now.

What did concern him was the Handmaiden, who had murdered their only lead in cold blood. Something about the casual way the Echani had snapped their suspect's neck had stirred something deep inside him, something beyond distrust or revulsion. He began to see now that the Handmaiden was more than a bounty hunter or an assassin. She was _dangerous_. Vhetin had been accused of sociopathic acts in the past, but there was always a reason for his deeds, always some higher cause for violence. The Echani seemed to believe that violence was a useful tool to get what she wanted. He'd worked with people like her in the past and had found himself at cross-purposes quickly. Usually blasters were pointed soon after that.

Brianna was staring at him expectantly, arms folded. “Well?” she pressed. “What are you going to do?”

“I don't know,” he finally said. The Handmaiden had to be punished in some way for screwing up their investigation so royally. But in doing so, she had provided another lead for them to follow up. Ultimately her fate was for Tobbi Dala to decide, but until he got back from raiding the drug hub with Jay and Denton, the responsibility for the Handmaiden fell to Vhetin and Brianna.

He sighed again, wishing he could just lay down and sleep for an hour or so. He was exhausted, stressed, and still hurting from his fight with the Mandalorian changeling he had encountered at the warehouse. Thankfully, there wasn't much action at the Keldabe Enforcement Office and that gave him some time to recuperate.

“We can't just leave her in there,” Brianna said, staring at the Handmaiden through the tinted observation window. The Echani was sitting in one of the interrogation rooms, hands bound to the table by heavy binders. She had her eyes closed and seemed to be meditating. She hadn't moved in over an hour.

Brianna shook her head. “She's either a risk to this team or an asset to the investigation. Either way, she's of no use to anyone stuck in there.”

“The question is how do we convince her to be the latter?” Vhetin asked. “Part of me is still convinced she killed Callie just to spite us.”

“I think that's a little drastic, even for her. The point is that she's too _reckless_. She deserted her post at the bomb site to stalk after us while we were investigating the warehouse, then let that Mandalorian changeling escape after he attacked you. Then she runs off without orders and confronts our only suspect without any authority or backup. If you ask me, Dala keeps chewing out the wrong person: _she's_ been the one screwing up this investigation, not Denton.”

Vhetin didn't respond. He stared at the white-haired woman for a few moments through the glass, observing how calm she looked. If he didn't know better, he would have never guessed she had murdered someone only a few hours ago.

He eventually shook his head and said, “I'm going to talk to her.”

“What?” Brianna said. “You do remember that she... well, that she hates you?”

“I don't know,” he replied. “She seemed to be warming up to me earlier.”

She fixed him with a stare that said, _I think you've finally gone crazy_. He shrugged and said, “Well, we at least managed to hold a short conversation without trying to kill each other. I consider that progress.”

“And what do you think you'll accomplish by talking to her now?”

“Maybe I can convince her to stop with these wild lone wolf attacks. If she can learn to work as part of our team, she can go back to being useful. If not, Dala will probably toss her behind bars before the day is out. Either way it's a win-win for us.”

Brianna glanced between him and the Handmaiden, then said,”All right, but I'm going in there with you.”

“Why?”

She hesitated. “I... don't trust her yet. And I wouldn't be surprised if she tried something stupid on you.”

“You're worried she'll attack me?” He felt somewhat touched by her concern. “You do realize she's shackled to the table?”

“She's a bloody Echani. They're known to be able to pull some crazy _osik_. They're all trained to be killers.”

“So are_ mando'ade_.”

“Yes, but Echani are... different from you guys. They're just... well, creepier.”

Vhetin bit back a laugh and thought, Oya_ to that. “_I'll be fine.”

He nodded to one of the guards at the door. “Open the door. Anything happens, send Brianna in as backup.”

“Kark that,” Brianna said. “I'm going in with you.”

“Bri-”

“Don't _Bri_ me. I'm not leaving you alone with her and that's final.”

“Sir,” the guard at the door said, “we'll stay on guard out here. Anything goes wrong and we'll be in to back you up.”

“Okay,” Vhetin sighed. “Let's just get this over with.”

The guard opened the door for them, hand on the butt of his pistol. “Good luck sir. She's been a little touchy with our investigators.”

“We'll be fine,” Vhetin said, stepping inside. The room was a little more than a large square of duracrete with a table and two chairs set in the center. Two large tinted observation windows were set into either wall. And sitting in the center of the room on one of the uncomfortable-looking durasteel chairs was the Handmaiden, hands cuffed to the seat behind her back. Her head was bowed and her eyes were closed. Her breathing was slow and steady and she didn't look worried that she was incarcerated.

Vhetin eased himself into the seat across from her, wincing as his stomach lurched at the sudden movement. He pushed the nausea away, knowing he'd have to purge preservative from his lungs before long.

The Handmaiden didn't open her eyes or even acknowledge their presence. Brianna glared at the Echani, then leaned against the wall and folded her arms across her chest. Vhetin waited a few moments, then cleared his throat to get the Handmaiden's attention.

The Echani didn't move.

Vhetin glanced at Brianna, who shrugged and rolled her eyes, then cleared his throat again. He leaned closer and clearly said, “_Handmaiden_.”

Pale blue eyes snapped open, looking up at him and regarding him coolly. After a few moments, she shook a strand of pale white hair out of her eyes and tipped her head. “Mandalorian. You are a welcome sight.”

“Am I?” Vhetin said. “I find that strange. After what happened in that warehouse, I figured I'd be the last person you'd want to see.”

The Handmaiden stared at him, then closed her eyes again. She lowered her head once more and murmured, “I have been in the presence of these gold-armored men and women for far too long. I wish to leave this place.”

“That's not going to happen any time soon,” Vhetin said.

“Oh?”

“You _killed _someone.”

“I eliminated a threat,” the Echani replied sternly. “Callie Mapular was a liar and a miscreant. She deliberately led your investigation astray.”

“She was our only suspect.”

“And before I silenced her, she provided us with the means to find another. She served her purpose.”

“What if the name she gave had been a fake?” Brianna asked.

The blue eyes opened again and the Handmaiden's cold gaze fell on Brianna. “Was it a fake?”

“Well...” Brianna blinked, then scowled. “It could have been.”

“But it _wasn't_. Even now, Moqena moves with her allies to take Caranthyr into custody. By silencing Callie Mapular, I may have solved your investigation single-handed, Mandalorian.”

“How do you know what Jay is doing?”

The Handmaiden cracked a rare smile. “You still fail to understand? I _listen_, Mandalorian. Where others make assumptions or make plans for coming engagements, I _observe_. The realities of the present may be eliminated at any moment by the uncertainties of the future. The bombing at the shop yesterday proves that.”

Vhetin had to give her that. One moment, the investigators at the shop thought they had everything under control. The next, the shop was in flames, over ten people were dead, and almost all the evidence had been destroyed. Investigations, whether on the homefront or on a bounty mission, could turn deadly within the blink of an eye. Only those with the sharpest minds and the quickest reflexes could hope to get ahead.

“But if one can learn to truly _see_, to observe as the children of Eshan do, one can begin to see patterns within the chaos, especially when observing the past. The past is set in stone, and every action, no matter how small, leaves an influence on the environment. These influences, if interpreted properly, can become clues that lead to the discovery of an eventuality in the future.”

The Handmaiden raised her chin imperiously. “An Echani is taught to look for these clues in the present before they are lost to us. As for how I know of Moqena's location and future arrangements, I have been listening to pieces of information from the guards speaking outside my door whenever someone comes to interrogate me or visually ensure I am still their captive. Within the last few hours the number of officers checking on my have drastically decreased, meaning that their attention is focused elsewhere. My guess was that they were focusing on a much more important event, perhaps a coordinated operation. That fits in with what the officers outside my room have been speaking of.

“Finally, the fact that Moqena herself has not come to interrogate me only further supports my theory. She is gone, on a coordinated operation with these Justicars that much of this organization seems to find intensely interesting. The only operation that could so capture their attention is inevitably the hunt for Caranthyr.”

She narrowed her eyes as she stared at him challengingly, gaze holding his even through his expressionless multi-colored faceplate. The corner of her mouth twitched up in a smug smile. “I have managed to piece together your plan while simply sitting here, cuffed to this uncomfortable seat in your duracrete prison. One would hope our enemies are not so well informed of your intentions.”

Vhetin had to admit, he was impressed. He doubted even he would have been able to piece together that much intel simply from sitting, waiting, and listening. He had many skills as a bounty hunter, but deep down he was not a patient man. At least not as patient as the Handmaiden seemed to be.

“All that aside,” Vhetin said, “that doesn't change the facts. You killed Callie.”

“I did.”

“For whatever reasons.”

“I do not deny this. I never did.”

“But you can't believe you did anything wrong?”

“I did nothing I did not believe necessary. Callie's death served a purpose. Her employer can no longer operate under the belief that he can continue his butchery free of consequence.”

“Somehow,” Brianna muttered, “I don't think Caranthyr cares.”

“But what of his men? If they fear for their lives, they may find themselves less inclined to do his bidding. The only certain way to divide your enemies is to ensure they fear you far more than they fear their own masters.”

“Whether you're right or not, you still killed a suspect,” Vhetin insisted. “We don't do that.”

The Handmaiden let out a quick laugh, a short, harsh sound. “For such renowned warriors, I would never have guessed you Mandalorians would be so...”

She sneered before finishing, “...soft.”

Vhetin sighed. “You know we're not going to let you go.”

“I am of no use to you here,” the Echani replied calmly. “We both know this. That is why you will release me from these bonds and allow me to return to this investigation.”

Now it was Vhetin's turn to laugh. “For someone with such remarkable powers of observation, you don't seem to be able to read us Mandos so well. I'm not letting you out. Not while you're still a threat to this hunt.”

He turned to the door and said, “Brianna, stay here and keep an eye on her.”

“Sure thing,” the huntress said, glaring at the Echani.

He leaned close to her and lowered his voice so the Handmaiden couldn't hear. “If she tries anything, make sure your weapon is set for stun. She may be dangerous, but she's Jay's friend. We'll let her figure out what to do.”

Brianna looked irritated by the request, but nodded and said, “If you say so.”

He nodded and put a hand on her shoulder reassuringly. Then he pulled open the door and stepped outside. Just as the door shut behind him, his helmet comm buzzed. He tapped a sensor on the side of his new helmet. “This is Vhetin. State your business.”

“_Hey_,” came Jay's voice over the comm channel. “_I'm glad I caught you. I don't have much time._”

“Is something wrong?” he asked. She wouldn't have called if it wasn't important. “Are you okay?”

“_I'm fine,_” she reassured him, “_but we're getting ready to clear out a known hub for drug trafficking._”

“What do you need?”

“_I need to pass on some intel to you before I go. I just got off the comm with Janada and she gave us a few new leads to work on._”

“Can you tell me?”

“_I'd rather not on an unsecured channel. I'll talk to you when I get back. But while you've got a quiet moment, can you do something for me?_”

He didn't hesitate. “Whatever you need.”

“_D'harhan still hasn't checked in. It's been almost a whole day. It's not like him to vanish for so long. And with everything else that's happening..._”

“You're worried something's happened to him.”

“_Well... yeah_.”

“You do realize he's basically a walking cannon? He can take care of himself.”

“_Just indulge me, yeah? Can you find out what's taking him so long?_”

He debated with himself for a few moments. There was a lull in the action for the moment, and he had time to kill until Tobbi Dala and his team returned. With Janada tracking down leads and Brianna looking after the Handmaiden, there was time to spare looking for Jay's massive friend.

He eventually nodded. “I'll do it. Just focus on the task at hand and get back here safe. I've had about all I can take from the Handmaiden.”

She laughed. “_Thanks for putting up with her for so long. You never cease to amaze, Cin._”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Good luck.”

“_See you soon_.”

~~~~~~~~

**Downtown Keldabe**

“Breach!”

The charge on the door blew inward with a roar, sending the thick metal door flying inward. A thick cloud of smoke erupted out the door, wafting over Tobbi Dala and his team. Jay grimaced instinctively before remembering that a thick barrier of _beskar_ and transparisteel separated her eyes from the dirt and smoke. Her HUD automatically switched over the scanner mode, picking out the shapes of the rest of the team from the swirling smoke.

She could hear shouts of surprise from inside and a few stray blaster bolts slashed through the open door. The Mandos flanking the entrance flinched away from the fire. Dala hefted his rifle as the dust began to settle and called, “Count off!”

A burly Mando in slate-gray plates held up three fingers. The man across from him nodded and shouted back, “_Three! Two! One!_”

“Fire in the hole!”

The big soldier primed an hourglass-shaped flashbang grenade and lobbed it through the door. After the space of a heartbeat, there was a bright flash of white light and screams from inside. Denton grew tense just ahead in line, flexing his grip on his police pistol.

“Go!” Dala suddenly roared. “Go, go, _go_!”

The Mandos charged into the building, moving down the line that flanked the entrance. The first two disappeared inside and blaster fire began echoing from within the building. Dala charged in next, with a battle cry of, “_Par Manda'yaim bal Mand'alor!”_

“Come on!” Denton shouted to her as he slipped through the door behind Dala. Jay sprinted after him, moving slower than usual because of her heavy armor. She entered just behind Denton, raising her rifle in preparation. Her HUD flashed as it switched back to its normal scanning mode, giving her a clear view of a perfect hell.

The main room of the herb shop was a two-story lobby: a large open shop floor with display cases full of medicinal herbs, with two rickety-looking staircases on either side of the room leading up to a large balcony above. Between the railings above and the displays below, there was plenty of cover for almost twenty hostiles inside. The officers already inside had taken up position behind a few counters and had overturned display tables to use as cover. The large Mandalorian didn't even bother, simply standing at the front lines and picking off hostiles with quick, well-placed stun rounds to the legs, arms, or throat.

“Gundark!” Dala shouted, using the man's codename rather than his actual one. “Riot shield!”

The burly man yanked a huge rectangular _beskar_ shield off his back, hooking his arm through the thick leather straps and slamming it down to the ground. He crouched behind it and motioned with a jerk of his head. Dala moved out from behind cover, taking position behind the burly Mando and firing out a few shots.

“Barricade squad!” he ordered. “Move up!”

Five more Mandos with identical riot shields moved forward, making a protective U to shield Dala and the others from incoming fire. Together, they made an impenetrable wall of metal to block all incoming fire. Denton punched Jay's shoulder and shouted, “Come on!”

They moved up, keeping below the edge of the shields to avoid stray fire. The six members of the barricade squad were returning fire with tight, controlled shots through small apertures in the front of their shields. One Mando grimaced as a lucky shot flashed through the opening and ricocheted off his helmet.

Jay was breathing hard as she joined the other officers taking cover behind the shield wall. Her heavy _beskar_ armor was slowing her down, wearing her out faster than usual. She was sweating under her armor, but the atmospheric control system in her suit was keeping the temperature cool. The recycled air wasn't helping either. She wanted nothing else but to yank her helmet off and take a deep breath of fresh air. As more and more blaster fire began bouncing away off the shields, she knew that was a bad idea.

“Barricades!” Dala shouted, “move up! Box 'em in!”

The officers shifted their balance, preparing to move forward. One of the officers banged his pistol against the shield, making a loud _clang, clang, clang_. He let out an inarticulate roar and the warrior next to him shouted, “This is it boys! Slow and steady wins the race!”

“_Oya!_” the rest of the officers shouted. The cry went up and down the line, then in a coordinated motion they took one slow step forward. The officers behind kept close to the wall, waiting while the frontline officers advanced.

“Give us all you got, you _osik'kove_!” one of the nearby Mandos suddenly shouted. He let out a cackle as blaster bolts started to bounce off his shield. The man lobbed a flashbang grenade out from behind his shield. Moments later a blinding white blast lit up the stairwell.

“Three contacts down!”

“Take 'em out!”

Several stun rounds flashed out through the shield barricade and a rallying cheer went up and down the shield wall. The six members of the barricade division took another coordinated step forward. One more step and three officers taking cover behind the barricade reached through the shield wall and grabbed the downed hostiles, dragging them back to their side of the battlefield. Three pairs of binders flashed out and the restrained drug dealers were dragged out of the building.

“Doing okay?” Denton shouted, flag-like rangefinder slid down into scanning mode. He had to shout over the screams and blasterfire of the drug dealers as he and Jay fired unsuccessfully at a knot of hostiles taking cover behind an overturned display table. All she could do was nod. Her heart was pounding too fast and her HUD was flashing information at her too quickly to read. She grimaced and deactivated the non-essential readouts on the head's-up display.

“Great!” she shouted back. “Having the time of my life!”

Dala let out a bark of laughter from further down the line. How he managed to hear her was anyone's guess. “Not like bounty hunting is it?”

“Not really,” Jay fired back. “If it was like bounty hunting, I'd be facing all these guys alone!”

Denton threw his head back and laughed, while Dala just growled and said, “Yeah, yeah. You think you're so clever, smartass.”

“Watch and learn,” she said. She stood, raising her rifle and firing at the nearest two hostiles. They dropped where they stood and were quickly dragged behind the barricade line by the two nearest officers. Another shot, another fallen hostile. She dodged an incoming shot, then grabbed a flashbang grenade from her belt, primed it, and hurled it over the shield wall. It bounced off the far wall and exploded, knocking hostiles off their feet but not incapacitating any of them.

Somewhere on the balcony above them a door flew open and more hostiles stormed into the fight. The barricade line had to fall back a few steps; the enemy had the high ground now.

Jay winced as a blaster bolt skimmed over the nearest shield, far too close for comfort. “How are we doing?”

Dala hazarded a glance over the shield wall. “These _shabuire_ are putting up a good fight. A few are stunned, but most are still standing.”

The barricade line took another slow step forward, then another. Their enemies, in contrast, fell back further and further as the attacking officers blocked their escape and forced them to the back of the shop. The hostile force became more and more desperate and blaster shots began flying back and forth faster and faster.

A gray armored enforcement officer flinched back and fell to the ground when a blaster shot hit him square in the throat. The trooper next to him cursed and ducked behind the shield wall to drag him to safety, out of the firing line. One of the troopers turned ever so slightly to look for the source of the commotion and a bright red blaster bolt hit him just under his shield arm. He screamed and fell to his knees, creating a massive gap in the barricade line. Nearby Mandos stood to fill the gap with outgoing fire. Jay was about to stand and fire as well when a small orb sailed through the barricade line and bounced across the duracrete floor. It came to a halt, spinning slowly while a small red light began flashing. Jay cursed and shouted “Frag!”

Without really thinking, she leaped after the thermal detonator, scooped it up, and threw it back in the direction from which it came. The grenade hit an enemy Mandalorian in the chest before exploding in a wash of red-orange fire and sending the man flying. Other hostiles leaped away from the burst of fire and shrapnel, giving the enforcement officers time to drop them with precise shots from the barricade line. In moments, they had whittled down the enemy to less than eleven men.

“Backup!” Dala shouted when another barricade trooper was felled by a shot to the leg. “Send in the backup!”

With a roar, six more barricade troopers stormed through the door, followed closely by ten more blaster-wielding officers. Dala nodded to them, then tapped his comm unit and said, “Team Two, are you ready?”

“_Ready and able_,” came the response over the team channel. “_Just give the word._”

Dala waited a half moment, then shouted, “_Now_!”

The skylight high above shattered inward and four Mandos on rappel lines jumped down through the opening, lighting up the room with blue-white stun bolts. Hostiles leaped for cover and the few that were left out in the open were knocked down by the incoming attack.

“Mandalorians!” Dala shouted over the commotion. “Get ready!”

“_Oya_!” came the dutiful response. The barricade line stopped its steady march forward, the officers tensing their legs and preparing to charge. Team 2 continued their descent, firing at anything that dared move out from cover.

Denton put a hand on Jay's shoulder and shouted, “Are you ready for this?”

She grinned behind her faceplate and reloaded her weapon. “I've done crazier things.”

“Remember that remark when we're all done here,” he replied. “After things get _really _crazy.”

“_Mando'ade_!” Dala finally roared. “Forward!”

The barricade line broke as the officers surged forward and all hell broke loose.

~~~~~~~~

**_Oyu'baat_ Tapcaf, Keldabe**

“You're sure?”

“Aye,” Aramis replied as he rubbed tiny flecks of dust from the inside of a chipped drinking mug. “Haven't seen him since you an' Moqena touched down the other day. And with a gun like he's got, I've been keepin' tabs. Trust me.”

Vhetin nodded, patting the bartop reassuringly. “I do trust you Aramis. Will you keep sending out feelers? Any info I can get would be useful.”

The old bartender nodded, a grim look on his gaunt and faded face. “Aye. You've been a good customer, Stripes. It's the least I could do.”

“_Vor'e_,” Vhetin said, then turned to leave. As he drew away from the bar, Aramis' voice called him back.

“Hey Vhetin. Be careful out there. City's goin' crazy. It'd be wise to keep your wits about you.”

Vhetin nodded. “I always have my wits about me.”

Then he strode away from the bar, to where Venku was leaning against the wall waiting for him. The young Mandalorian nodded to him in greeting as Vhetin stepped through the front doors of the tapcaf and into the plaza outside. Venku was right on his heels.

“So what's the news?” he asked. “Any intel on your big alien buddy?”

“None,” Vhetin said grimly, squinting against the sudden glare of the morning sun. His helmet quickly tinted against the light to protect his vision. His eyes were very sensitive – a side-effect of the synthetic illness still raging through his system – so he increased the tint setting even more until his head stopped throbbing. He grimaced at the unfamiliar HUD and controls of his new helmet.

He had to admit, though the armor was ugly as a rancor's backside, his new suit did boast vastly increased systems when compared to his older kit. The HoloNet uplink module was hardened against hacking attempts and was almost twice as strong as his personal model, allowing him an almost instantaneous secure uplink to the galaxy-spanning datanet. His HUD's scanner was also much more powerful and offered almost three times the variety of both audio and visual scanning frequencies – something he was sure would come in very useful in future hunts. Janada had boasted that the scanner could even pick up pheromone signatures from the other side of thick duracrete walls, but he had yet to test that setting.

Besides the new software, the armor itself seemed much more durable than his previous suit. The plates were made of a plastoid-phrik alloy coated in a heavy layer of almost-impenetrable Mandalorian _beskar_. The specifications were different than what he had asked for when he had given Janada his plans for his new suit, but the armor felt more than capable of stopping general weapons fire. He was eager to test it out in real combat.

But the real masterpiece of his new suit were his gauntlet spring-blades: a double-edged, arm-length _beskar _shortsword mounted into the housing of each gauntlet. At the blink of an eye, the blades could flip out of their housing like traditional switchblade knives and a sturdy handgrip would slide from his gauntlet into his palm, giving him tight control over the blades. In a heated combat situation, the blades would be invaluable and could very well mean the difference between life and death for their wielder.

Yes, he thought he could live with the temporary cosmetic ugliness of the suit and the moderate discomfort the new armor brought. Though his old suit was comfy and “broken in,” he couldn't begin to imagine what he was capable of with his new armor.

He brought his thoughts back to the present and continued, “There's been no sign of D'harhan since Jay sent out the call to bring him in. She's worried that something's happened to him.”

Venku let out a laugh. “To _him_? I doubt it.”

“Anything is possible.”

“The guy is nine feet tall, Vhetin. With a cannon on his head that could rival anything packed on a mid-sized fighter. He could knock a TIE fighter out of the sky with one shot!”

“Sometimes,” Vhetin said as they moved past the Kelita River Waterfall to their right, “the most dangerous enemies are the small ones. The ones you don't see coming until it's too late.”

“True,” Venku admitted. “But the smaller the enemy, the easier they are to kill.”

“Not always.”

Venku sighed and rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I still think he'll be fine. He's got plenty of firepower to hold his own in a firefight. He's good, at least for an _aruetii_."

“No one is invincible,” Vhetin said. “And if someone managed to find a way to bring the big guy down, our job just got a lot more dangerous.”

“I say let him go,” Venku said with a sudden scowl. “He has no place on Mandalore.”

“You think so?”

"He's dangerous and he's an _aruetii_. That's all I need to be convinced he doesn't belong here."

Vhetin glanced over at the young Mandalorian and frowned. “Jay seems to trust him.”

“Yeah, well Jay isn't one of us,” Venku replied matter-of-factly. “Of course she would trust him.”

Vhetin frowned deeper. Venku seemed angrier and more tense than usual. He had always spoken out against the encroachment of _aruetii_ foreigners in Mandalorian affairs, but those feelings had never before been directed at Jay.

It was no secret that Venku was attracted to Vhetin's partner, though Jay had apparently made it clear the feeling was not mutual. Maybe that was the cause of the young man's irritation, but it still made Vhetin uneasy. "Are you okay, _vod_?"

Venku blinked rapidly as if startled from thought. “Hm? What do you mean?”

Vhetin shrugged. “I've never heard you talk about Jay like that. Did something happen between the two of you?”

He shook his head. “No. I probably shouldn't have said that. I'm just... well, tense.”

“I understand.”

Venku glanced over as they passed a small knot of gray-armored Mandalorians arguing with a stormtrooper about registration papers. Vhetin decided not to get involved and quickly moved on to the barrier wall checkpoint further ahead. After a slight delay from the overly stubborn Imperials at the fortified gate, they passed through as they headed to their next location.

Venku spat a curse at the Imperials as they passed through and muttered, "Kriffing _aruetiise_. Scumming up our city and strutting around like they own the place."

"What can we do?" Vhetin sighed. "The Imperials will do what they always do. Not even we can keep them from sticking their noses in our affairs."

Venku shook his head. "Skulking around our own city is not the Mandalorian way."

"Oh?" Vhetin said, glancing over at his companion. Something was definitely wrong with Venku. It went beyond simply the young man being tense. He decided to play along, at least for the moment. "And what would be the Mandalorian way to deal with them?"

"Rise up," Venku muttered with a glare. "Drive them out. Act like kriffing warriors for once instead of those weakling pacifists that live out in the desert. Cowering in their stupid dome-cities and refusing to keep with the traditions of our ancestors..."

“I say let the _aruetiise_ live they way they want to,” Vhetin said. “Right now the Imperials are an annoyance, but they aren't actively prohibiting us from anything we do. As long as they leave us free to go about our business, I say we let them go about theirs. It's not our place to close the city to people.”

“Mandalore,” Venku muttered, “is for _Mandalorians_, remember?”

“Mandalore is one big giant refugee camp,” Vhetin said. “A haven for people who have lost their way. I was the same when I arrived here. I was an _aruetii_ just like them, and I converted. It was the best decision of my life. Don't you want to give others the chance to make the same decision?”

“What, so since you started out an _aruetii_, you're now going all sympathetic?” Venku demanded. “You do remember whose side you're on, right?”

“_Side_?” Vhetin echoed. “I didn't know that we were taking sides all of a sudden.”

“Oh yeah, _vod_,” Venku said. “Mark my words. You'll want to choose a side before long. And when you do, make sure you remember who your real friends are. _Mando'ade_, not some two-faced traitor _aruetiise_.”

Vhetin frowned and thought, _enough is enough_. He nudged Venku's arm and pointed to a nearby alleyway. "Let's take a shortcut. My next contact is nearby."

They moved into the alleyway, Venku moving slowly, unsure of Vhetin's intentions. "This isn't any shortcut I've seen. Just a dead-end alley."

Vhetin stopped and turned back to his friend. "Look, Venku. We've known each other for the last three years, right? Ever since Aramis introduced us."

"Right," Venku agreed. "So?"

"So you'd tell me if there was anything wrong, yeah?"

"We're _vode_," Venku said, nodding. He cracked a slight grin. "Aramis does have a tendency to make good connections between _mando'ade_."

Vhetin nodded. "That's what I thought."

Before Venku could move, Vhetin triggered his gauntlet-mounted spring-blades and thrust his arms forward, stabbing the arm-length shortswords into the unarmored spot underneath Venku's arms. The young man let out a scream of pain and grabbed at Vhetin's shoulders in shock.

"_Aah! _Wh_... Why_?!" he screamed, blood soaking his flight suit.

"Because Venku and I met _seven_ years ago, not three," Vhetin said, pushing against the blades so they sank deeper into Venku's chest. His face was pulled back in a furious scowl. "And _Gotab_ introduced us, not Aramis. The real Venku would know that."

Venku screamed again and struggled to break free. Vhetin pushed him more securely against the wall.

"Which begs the question," he growled, "who are you?"

In an instant, Venku stopped screaming. His expression of pain was replaced by a nonchalant, almost bored expression. He let out a long sigh and said, "Well, I guess you caught me."

Then he surged forward, smashing his forehead against Vhetin's helmet. Vhetin recoiled, more out of surprise than pain. “Venku” took advantage of the distraction to yank the spring-blades from under his arms and shove his attacker away. Vhetin quickly regained his balance, dropping into a battle-ready combat crouch.

Imposter Venku grimaced and stretched, rotating his arms with a grunt. Vhetin could see the bloodstains where his blades had pierced the younger Mando's body, but the wounds didn't seem to be bothering him. It almost seemed like he hadn't been hurt at all.

“Yeah,” the Mando sighed, “one great thing about being able to shift the basic structure of your entire biological makeup is that you can shift your wounds back shut. Comes in handy in situations like this. Gods, I love being a changeling.”

Vhetin let out a snarl. “Caranthyr. Nice to see you again.”

“Good guess,” Fake Venku said. He grinned widely, a perfect match of the real Venku's easygoing grin. “I had you going there for a while, though, didn't I?”

“Yeah,” Vhetin snapped. “Right up until you started spouting Mando-First _osik_. Nice trick until that point.”

“Glad you think so,” Fake Venku chuckled. “But that's not the only trick up my sleeve.”

In an instant, Venku's face began to bubble and twitch, as if the surface of his skin was boiling. The skin flexed and began to stretch in unfamiliar ways, his hair growing longer and darker, his eyes shifting hue. Vhetin found himself caught between the desire to attack and fascination at what he was seeing.

After a few moments, Fake Venku wasn't there anymore. In his place was a much thinner man, with a gaunt, ugly face, dark brown eyes, long stringy brown hair, and a crooked nose. As Vhetin stared, even Venku's armor began to shift and change. The bright, multi-colored plates began to blend together and mix into a muddy brown. As Caranthyr pulled his helmet over his head, the colors shifted and cleared to reveal dark blue plates with lighter gray trim. He drew a curved _beskar_ sword from his belt and held it up in a balanced defensive stance.

“Funny,” Caranthyr said, studying the blade intently. “Moqena's pissing away her time halfway across the city when I'm sneaking around right under her nose. Too bad her partner went missing and wasn't able to warn her about what's coming.”

Vhetin raised his gauntlet spring-blades, clenching his fists anxiously. He darted forward with a careful, exploratory slash that Caranthyr easily parried. A few more easy blows and Vhetin fell back, confident that he had a good grasp of the changeling's strengths and weaknesses. Caranthyr was trained in the traditional Mandalorian combat form. He was good, but he had very obvious flaws in his technique.

Vhetin adjusted his grip on the shortsword handles and growled, “What's coming? What are you talking about?”

“Oh... I just may have heard a rumor,” Caranthyr said casually. He brought his blade down in a heavy two-handed blow that almost sent Vhetin staggering. He was obviously not willing to wait and test his opponent's defenses. Vhetin regained his balance and crossed his blades in a defensive X across his chest. He caught Caranthyr's blade between his gauntlet knives and held it there. Caranthyr grunted as he shoved against the lock. “A rumor that you were out looking for that brute D'harhan. Too bad for you I found him first.”

“Liar,” Vhetin snapped. He thrust his gauntlet blades away and stabbed forward, but Caranthyr danced away easily. He flipped his sword around and brought it forward in a powerful slash at Vhetin's throat. Vhetin caught the sword with his blade and knocked it away.

“The best part is,”Caranthyr sneered, “by the time your partner knows what hit her, it'll be too late. You see, D'harhan and I came to... an understanding. And when he's finished at that drug outpost, the city coroner won't be able to even ID what's left of your partner's body.”

“No!” Vhetin lashed out with a heavy kick to Caranthyr's chest. The changeling staggered away, his back hitting the wall. Vhetin stepped forward and slammed his shoulder into his opponent's chest, smashing him against the wall. Caranthyr grunted and smashed his helmet forward against Vhetin's forehead, sending Vhetin staggering back. Caranthyr took one step forward and hit Vhetin with a powerful kick to the chest plates that sent him staggering.

He landed hard on his back, then pulled himself back into a reverse somersault and came up onto his feet. He was just in time to block an incoming thrust from Caranthyr. Vhetin shoved the blade to the left, throwing his blue-armored opponent away. He pivoted on one heel and slashed down Caranthyr's back plate, barely scratching the metal.

They fought back and forth across the alley. Sometimes Vhetin took the upper hand but just when he thought victory was within his grasp, Caranthyr would counter with a surprise attack that would even the odds. Before long they were both bleeding from a multitude of shallow slash and stab wounds to their chest and arms. In that regard Caranthyr had a definite advantage; every time Vhetin landed a blow, the wound would heal in a matter of moments.

_This is getting seriously irritating_, Vhetin thought as he hit Caranthyr with a stab through the thigh that made the man double over in pain. Vhetin was much fitter than the past few months but he couldn't stand up to a changeling with some kind of supercharged healing ability. To prove his point, Caranthyr quickly recovered and thrust a fist forward, hitting Vhetin square in his unarmored throat before he could raise his guard.

Vhetin backpedaled and fell to his knees, sheathing one gauntlet blade in order to clutch at his throat. He coughed and gasped, struggling to catch his breath. Caranthyr didn't press the attack, rubbing at his shoulder where Vhetin had landed a blow so powerful it had knocked his shoulder plate right off his body.

Vhetin finally managed to suck a breath into his burning lungs. He rose to his feet and ejected his spring-blade, once again ready to fight.

“Why are you doing this?” he demanded. “You're a Mandalorian, like me.”

“No,” Caranthyr snarled, slashing down with his blade with three powerful strokes. “Not like you. Better. _Stronger_. More willing to do what is necessary.”

Vhetin blocked all three blows, driven back by the power of the attack until his jetpack knocked against the brick wall behind him. He eventually caught Caranthyr's sword on his blade and shoved the blue-armored man away.

“And just what...” Vhetin panted, lowering his guard momentarily, “do you think is necessary?”

“It's no secret,” Caranthyr snarled. He was breathing hard as well and holding a hand to his side, furiously trying to catch his breath. “Our brethren today are weakened by their own ideas of _right_ and _wrong_. That worthless piece of parchment you call the Supercommando Codex is holding us back from everything we could be. All because the few in power fear the strength of the many.”

The words made Vhetin's blood run cold. “Who told you this? Who put these crazy ideas into your thick skull?”

“She's beyond your reach, bounty hunter,” Caranthyr chuckled. “But she's eager to see what you and your so-called _friends_ will try in order to stop her.”

Vhetin scowled behind his helmet and dashed forward, slashing again and again. Caranthyr seemed surprised by his sudden violence and was driven back under the onslaught. He tried to turn to get out of Vhetin's path, but only succeeded in putting himself between his opponent and the brick wall behind him; a fatal mistake.

Vhetin grinned in satisfaction. Caranthyr was tiring. He was a hearty fighter and a skilled swordsman, but he didn't possess the stamina or strength of a Salpatian Kiffar. Vhetin was biologically superior and it was only a matter of time before Vhetin wore him down.

Vhetin saw an opening and took it. He took a sturdy step forward and drove his other knee into Caranthyr's gut. The changeling was shoved back against the brick wall, barely able to keep up his defense.

Caranthyr hit him with a surprise slash to the arm that tore open Vhetin's flight suit. Vhetin flinched and Caranthyr tried to duck out of range. Vhetin moved too fast, though, and stabbed his gauntlet blade through his opponent's bicep, pinning his arm to the wall behind him. Caranthyr cried out in pain and his blade dropped from limp fingers. His sword clattered loudly against the damp duracrete sidewalk at their feet.

Caranthyr grunted and punched at Vhetin's helmet with his good arm. Vhetin easily shook off the blow and yanked his blade free before stabbing both arm-length swords between the gaps in Caranthyr's chest plates, sinking the blades right through Caranthyr's heart. The changeling let out a weak groan and grabbed at Vhetin's arms, blood soaking his flight suit. Vhetin dragged him closer, until they were only inches apart, then ripped off his opponent's helmet and let it bounce down the alley. He slammed his forehead against Caranthyr's bared face, stunning the man so he couldn't fight back. There was a gut-wrenching _crack_ as Caranthyr's nose broke under the force of the blow. It didn't instantly mend itself, which gave Vhetin a dark sense of satisfaction. So there _was_ a limit to Caranthyr's healing powers. Cuts and bruises could heal themselves, but broken bones couldn't knit themselves back together.

“The game is over, Caranthyr,” he hissed. “I don't think your fancy healing trick will help if I cut your kriffing head off. Talk.”

The changeling whimpered but said nothing. Vhetin dug the spring-blades in deeper and snarled, “Who are you working for?”

“K-kriff... you.”

Vhetin drew one blade out, then stabbed it through Caranthyr's chest plates again. “_Talk!_ What's your next target?”

“N-not what...” Caranthyr gasped. He laughed, blood pouring from his broken nose and leaking from the corners of his mouth. “B-but _who_.”

“Then who?” Vhetin said. He drew one bloodstained spring-blade out of Caranthyr's chest and held it to the man's throat. “Tell me now or I swear to _to Manda _you'll be dead in the next thirty seconds.”

“S-... Sh-... _Shysa_,” Caranthyr gasped, holding back pained laughter. “F-Fenn Shysa. Mandalore the Meek.”

Vhetin faltered, his blade hesitating for a long, blood-chilling moment. Caranthyr saw his shock and let out a weak chuckle. “And the best part is... there's _nothing_ you can do to stop it.”

He threw his head back and began to let out wheezing laughter. Vhetin's shock was quickly washed away by fury. He clenched a fist and pulled his other blade free, then crossed his arms across his chest and slashed horizontally. His blades bit deep into Caranthyr's unarmored neck, unleashing a spray of warm blood. Caranthyr's eyes flew wide with dismay as he sputtered and clutched his throat. Vhetin immediately sheathed his flip-blades and turned away, punching in a dialing code for Jay's comm. Whether she was in the middle of a firefight or not, she needed this information.

He sent the dialing code to his HUD, then turned back to Caranthyr and pulled a pair of electro-shock binders from his belt. The changeling was tricky. Vhetin couldn't safely assume the man was dead, and he wasn't going to give Caranthyr any chances. He rolled the corpse onto its front, then yanked his arms behind his back and cuffed him. He kicked the body just once for good measure, then finished dialing out. He was just about to press the send button when a voice from the end of the alley shouted, “Hey! You there!”

Vhetin turned to find two gold-armored enforcement officers walking toward him, hands cautiously resting on their weapons. Vhetin let out a relieved sigh and said, “I'm glad you guys are here. Can you come and give me a hand with this?”

Before he could move, the two officers had drawn their weapons and trained them on him. The taller officer stepped toward him and yelled, “Put your hands in the air! Now!”

“What?”

“Hands in the air!” the shorter officer shouted. “Get on your knees. Do it!”

“Wait, wait!” Vhetin said. “I'm on your side! I was just-”

The tall officer fired, hitting him in the chest with a high-powered stun round. Vhetin staggered back with a grunt, feeling lightning crackle up his arms. His head spun, his fingers twitching erratically. He shook off the effects and shouted, _“Osik_, man! What the hell? I told you-”

Another shot, this one powerful enough to knock him to his knees. He clutched at his burning chest, breathing hard. His instincts screamed at him to rip of his helmet and suck in a lungful of unfiltered air, but years of training stayed his hand. He fought to rise to his knees again and said, “Hey! I-”

A third shot, straight to the helmet, knocked him on his back. His muscles seized up, preventing him from getting to his feet again, as his HUD sparked and stuttered with interference. He couldn't fight back as the short officer rolled him over and cuffed his hands behind his back, just as Vhetin done with Caranthyr's corpse moments before.

“I'm with you!” Vhetin shouted as he was restrained. “Put a call through to Dala and-”

The officer slammed his helmet forward against the pavement. The gesture was meant to silence him, not harm him. To that end, it was effective; Vhetin grimaced at the salty taste of his now-cut lip and fell silent.

The taller officer, meanwhile, was calling in for backup. Vhetin listened intently while the short man cuffed his arms.

“Officer Icale,” the man was saying, “Identification Number Two-Two-Five-Nine, reporting a Tango-Three Eight in Quad Six. I need backup and a medical team. We have shots fired and an officer down. Repeat, officer down.”

_Officer down_? Vhetin thought. _There were no other officers here_. _Unless..._

Then he glanced over at Caranthyr and saw that he had once again changed. Instead of a gaunt, ugly man with stringy brown hair, he now had short-cropped blond hair with strong cheekbones and a wide chin. His armor color had also shifted from blue-gray to the reflective gold of the enforcement office. While Vhetin watched, the changeling opened one blue eye and subtly smiled at him. He winked, then closed his eyes and played dead once again.

“_No_!” Vhetin shouted as he was pulled to his feet. He struggled against his shackles as he was led away. “No, no, _no_! It's a lie! This is just what he wants you to do!”

Then he was pulled away, toward a waiting police speeder.


	11. Janada's Investigation

**Enforcement Office Drug Raid, Downtown Keldabe**

Jay ducked as fire sliced past her head, grimacing as the ion burn left a smoky trail through the air. She sprinted forward as quickly as her hefty armor would allow and kicked over a display stand. Jars of herbs shattered on the floor with a crash and the tinkle of broken metal, a sound that was mostly drowned out by the overpowering din of blaster fire. Jay took two shots to the breastplate before she managed to duck down behind the stand, winded but alive.

An officer, code-named Gunslinger for the twin pistols he carried, slid into cover next to her. He had lost his helmet somewhere along the way and his shoulder-length brown hair was matted with blood on the left side. His handsome face was marred by a black eye, a burn scar on his jaw, and a deep gash on his forehead. Despite this, however, the man seemed to be in remarkably high spirits. He glanced at Jay and grinned.

“Hell of a way to start your week, eh?” he said, reaching up and firing blindly over the stand. He paused to reload once he had emptied his clip.

“Suicide missions certainly make caf seem like a lightweight way to wake up in the morning,” Jay agreed. She grimaced as a blaster bolt shot a fist-sized chunk of wood out of the stand next to her head. A spray of wood chips and ash shot out from the blast, showering them both. She glanced over through the chaos to see Denton just a short distance away, taking cover behind a large rectangular display case.

“_Denton_!” she shouted over the cacophony. “_Shotgun_!”

He nodded and grabbed the blaster shotgun leaning against the case next to him, then tossed it to her. A moment later he slid a box of shells across the way. She caught the gun easily, then ducked back behind cover before anyone could pick her off. She sat down, back against the display stand, and began loading the weapon.

Blaster shotguns were not popular among the criminal underworld, mostly because of their poor aim and unusual ammunition system; whereas most blasters used a clip of incendiary tibanna gas that was good for maybe one hundred shots, a blaster shotgun used specialized “shells” of highly-compressed gas that was only good for a single powerful shot. When fired, the blaster shotgun's unique construction sent out a spray of blaster bolts rather than a single shot. It was devastatingly effective at close quarters, but could only hold five shells before requiring a reload. And after every shot, the shooter needed to pump a new shell into the ignition chamber. It was a clumsy and awkward weapon, but absolutely lethal against most humanoids.

“How does the count of three sound?” Jay asked Gunslinger. “When I say, we make a break for the clearance counter to our left.”

The counter in question was a solid durasteel construction built into the wall. It would provide much better protection against incoming fire than the flimsy wooden display stand they were currently hiding behind. Gunslinger sized up their odds, then grinned again and said, “I'm in. Ladies first.”

Jay shot him a glare, then began counting down. “In three... two... one!”

They threw themselves into the open, sprinting toward the durasteel counter. Blaster fire lit up their surroundings like deadly, multicolored lightbugs. Jay flinched as a stray bolt slammed into her stomach plate. She doubled over, but forced herself to keep running. Gunslinger vaulted over the table, snapping off two shots as he slid into cover. A few moments later, Jay followed suit. She pushed her back up against the durasteel face, clutching her stomach and coughing.

“Mandalorians!” Dala roared over the din. “We've got them on the run! Continue the offensive.”

“On the run?” Jay repeated. “They don't look like they're running to me.”

Gunslinger shook hair from his eyes and fired blindly over the countertop. “There's too much fire to tell anyway. My recommendation? Just keep shooting until no one shoots back.”

“Words to live by,” Jay grimaced. She popped up from behind the counter and fired three times at a large Trandoshan with an equally large rifle. The spray of fire from her borrowed shotgun caught the alien in the chest, knocking it off its feet. It didn't rise again.

Before Jay could duck down again, a stray blaster bolt caught her square in the helmet forehead. She was knocked away onto her back with a scream of pain. It felt like she'd been kicked in the head by a bantha and she squeezed her eyes shut and clutched at her head. A loud ringing echo drowned out all other sounds, muffling the world around her, and her vision streamed with tears. She let out an agonized moan, then violently ripped the helmet off, letting it clatter off across the floor.

Her head throbbed worse with each passing second and it seemed like her brain was about to explode. She screwed her eyes shut as she pulled herself into cover, letting out a muttered curse as the scream of blaster fire ripped out over her head.

Denton instantly sprinted over, bleeding from a shallow blaster wound to the ribs. He fell to his knees next to her and put a concerned hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

His voice was quiet and muffled, as if he was talking to her through a thick sheet of duracrete. But she nodded slowly and rasped, “Fine... I'm fine. Just need to... catch my breath.”

He patted her shoulder reassuringly and moved up to cover her. Gunslinger fired off another salvo and dropped three targets in the blink of an eye. Denton followed suit, felling four in just as many shots. He dropped down to reload after he took two shots to the chest. He was breathing hard, but looked otherwise all right. He looked up at Gunslinger with a wry smile and said, “Nice day for a shootout, eh?”

“Oh, beautiful,” Gunslinger replied as blaster shots ricocheted off the counter behind him. “The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and the _shabuire_ are itching to be brought down a peg...”

Jay didn't answer, focusing on sucking in one steady breath after another. When she finally felt able, she grabbed her shotgun and and fed more shells into the chamber. She rose to her knees next to Denton, laying down a steady field of fire. The thick, conical spray of stun rounds brought down one opponent, then another, then another. She grimaced against incoming fire, triggering her helmet's HUD to pick out all hostiles within range of her shotguns. The holographic readout showed her five contacts within weapon range, outlining them in red. She fired once, knocking down one hostile. She pumped the shotgun, feeding another tibanna shell into the chamber. She fired again, carving out a head-sized chunk from an overturned table. She had to duck back down to reload. Thankfully, Denton took her place, firing with quick shots from his rifle.

“How many left?” she shouted up to him as she reloaded her weapon.

“Total? About fifteen!”

Gunslinger raised his pistols and said, “Easy pickings for soldiers like us. Cover me.”

He stood and took off running to another nearby source of cover. He fired with both pistols, unleashing a steady blaze of scarlet light from both barrels. As several hostiles stood to fire at him, Jay felled them with shots from her shotgun, as quickly as she could feed new shells into the chamber.

“They're retreating up the stairs!” someone yelled. “They're falling back!”

“Keep pushing!” Dala shouted back. Jay saw him charging forward, an officer on either side of him. They fired at the retreating drug runners, forcing them away from the stairs and toward Jay, Denton and Gunslinger. When the hostiles turned to retreat, they found themselves staring down the barrels of four separate guns, with more behind them.

“Hands on your head!” Denton shouted, gesturing with his rifle. “On your knees! Now!”

The hostiles hesitated, then reluctantly threw down their weapons and raised their hands in surrender. They were almost instantly tackled by no less than five angry enforcement officers. Their hands were quickly cuffed behind their back and they were dragged out of the building. As the battlefield settled down, a rousing cheer went up through the ranks of officers. A few men and women had been wounded in the battle, but there were surprisingly few casualties. The same could not be said for their opponents.

Tobbi Dala wiped his sweaty forehead and lowered his rifle. He sighed as he clapped a nearby officer on the shoulder. “Good work, _vode an_. Gundark, Savrip, and Wildfire, get up the stairs and secure the top floor. Last thing we need is those damn junkies jumpin' us when we think we're safe.”

“Aye,” Gundark rumbled. He hefted his thick shield and jerked his head, motioning for the other two to follow him. Together, the three marched up the stairs, shields raised defensively as they ascended. A few moments later and they were gone.

Jay finally stood, propping her shogtun against the counter and wiping sweat from her eyes. Her head was still throbbing and she was pretty sure there was going to be a deep bruise on her forehead, but otherwise she was fine. She put a hand to her forehead, grimacing against the steady throbbing.

“You all right?” Dala called to her.

“Fine,” she replied through gritted teeth. “Just one hell of a headache.”

“Well shake it off,” the Mando growled. “I need you and Gunslinger to round up the last of these dirtbag _aruetii_se. Denton, head outside and get to work organizing transport back to the enforcement office.”

Denton nodded and made his way toward the door. “Yes sir.”

He flashed Jay a reassuring grin, giving her a subtle thumbs-up. Jay nodded to him in reply, then got to work with Gunslinger cuffing the last of the stunned drug dealers. It didn't take long; the stunned men and women weren't in any position to put up a fight. Once they were finished, the remainders of the barricade squad helped drag them outside to await transport back to base.

Once they were finished, Jay made her way up to Tobbi Dala, who was organizing logistics for the cleanup operation. Holonet Reporters would be on-site soon and they needed the area locked down before that happened.

“What's the word?” he asked as she stepped up.

“All suspects are cuffed and accounted for,” she reported. “We're secure, at least down here. What about on your end?”

Dala scratched at the rough stubble on his jaw. “No word from Gundark and his team, but there's been no sound of fighting from the top floor, so I think they're still just scouting. We're working on weeding out the low-level drug dealers we caught from anyone who might have had contact with Caranthyr and his men.”

“What about Caranthyr himself? Did we find him?”

“Not yet,” Dala admitted. “But, truth be told, I'm not sure we'd know if we did. Changelings are bad news. More than a few of the officers are paranoid knowing he's sneaking around. But the sooner we round up these _shabuire_, the sooner we can all get out of here.”

There was suddenly a burst of static over Dala's gauntlet TeamComm unit, loud enough that everyone in the room looked over. Dala scowled and activated the channel, barking, “What is it?”

“_Axion here_,” the reply said. “_Sorry to intrude, sir, but we're pickin' up strange seismic readings on our scanners.”_

“Seismic readings?” Dala repeated. “What do you mean?”

“_Looks like a mini-earthquake. You should be feelin' the shakes any minute now.”_

Almost on queue, a faint tremor began to rumble through the room, making the duracrete floor tremble under Jay's boots. The few delicate items that had managed to survive the firefight rattled loose and shattered on the floor. Mandalorians all across the room drew their weapons, ready for another fight.

“Status!” Dala snapped into his comm. When there wasn't an immediate reply, he snapped, “Damn it, I need a sitrep _now_!”

“_Sorry, sir,_” came the reply. “_But we're havin' trouble pinnin' down the epicenter of the quake. It's almost like it ain't a quake at all, but a... an explosion.”_

“An explosion?” Gunslinger said. “What could be exploding underneath us?”

“Not sure,” Dala said. “But I don't think it's good. Axion, what's your appraisal?”

“_I think y'all should get the hell out of there,”_ Axion replied. “_Double-time. If the supports are goin' up in smoke, that building may be about to come down 'round your ears.”_

“All right!” Dala said. He circled two fingers in the air, signaling for the officers to form up. “We've got potential structural weaknesses in the building. We're bugging out before these bastards can bring this building down with us still inside. Grab your gear and supplies and get out before it's too late.”

The Mandos sprang into action, gathering up the last of the necessary evidence and supplies before heading for the door. Dala triggered his helmet comm and barked, “Gundark, get your men out of here. The building could be coming down and I don't want you guys in here when it does.”

“_Affirmative_,” Gundark rumbled over comms.

Dala nodded and pointed at Jay. “_Aruetii_, you and Gunslinger get to the forward recon post and tell Axion to pull his head out of his _shebs_ and-”

_CRACK._

Everyone froze.

Jay slowly turned to the center of the room, where a series of spider-web fractures were skittering out in all directions. A deep rumble was building up beneath their feet, the ground quaking hard enough to send some troopers staggering. There was a steady thundering roar building up underneath them, then-

_CRACK_.

The floor bulged up, a mound of duracrete slowly raising into a lump in the center of the room. It stayed there for a moment before slumping back down again, leaving the floor flat again. Several of the closest Mandalorians took cautious steps away.

“Axion,” Dala said slowly. “What the holy hell is underneath us?”

“_No clue, sir_. _Advise you exfil as soon as possible.”_

“Copy,” Dala said. “You heard the man. Out! Everybody out!”

Just as they began heading for the door, there was another tremendous _CRACK_, and part of the floor caved in. A nearby Mando stumbled away before the floor could give out underneath his feet. A pair of troopers grabbed him under the arms and dragged him out of harm's way.

“Out!” Dala roared, backpedaling toward the door. “Ain't no Mandalorian dying to a quake on my watch!”

Mandos began filing out as fast as possible, retreating back to the observation post on the other side of the street. The pounding against the floor was growing louder now, faster too. Every few seconds there was another tremendous _CRACK_ and the floor would give way a little more. Jay shoved Gunslinger's back and shouted, “Go! Go!”

They were about halfway to the door when the floor finally exploded.

A fountain of duracrete and rubble roared into the air, knocking the nearest Mandalorians off their feet. Jay was knocked head-over-heels, smashing through a display and landing in a shower of shattered glass. Gunslinger slammed into the wall just over Jay's head, then landed on top of her.

“Ah,” he grunted. He fought to rise into a sitting position. “Well, this day just keeps getting better and better.”

Jay groaned and shoved him off her chest. “I take it back. This sucks way worse than bounty hunting. I want to go home now.”

She staggered to her feet, holding her side. Her boots crunched across broken glass as she stepped toward the massive broken hole that now spanned almost the entire center of the room. Mandalorians from across the entire area slowly picked themselves up, dusting off their armor and calling out to allies.

“Fierfek,” Dala grunted. “Everybody okay?”

Slowly, everyone checked in. People had suffered cuts and bruises, but were otherwise fine. Dala clambered back to his feet and grabbed his rifle from the ground. “All right, that was definitely not an earthquake. Axion, give me a goddamn sitrep.”

“_Sorry, sir, but we ain't equipped to be doin' seismic scans. Choice is plain an' simple. Stay an' find out what the hell is goin' on, or get the hell out an' save your men. Up to you.”_

Dala cursed and gestured to the men around him. “All right, everyone out. Same plan as before. Except for Rancor, Gunslinger, Viper, Flashbang...”

Jay sighed as Dala said her code name, _Viper_. She hefted her weapon and said, “Sometimes I wonder if a single person can be so unlucky.”

Gunslinger cracked his neck and reloaded his pistols. “Sometimes I wonder if some of us have got a giant bullshit-bullseye painted on our helmets, 'cause bullshit seems to just follow us around.”

He looked to Dala for orders, like many others across the room; the grizzled Mandalorian was overseeing the exfiltration of the rest of the troopers. When everyone but the chosen team were outside, he finally turned back to the group and shouldered his rifle. “All right, _vode_, there's something mean and ugly and horrible waiting for us down in that hole. Let's make sure it doesn't come up to play, yeah?”

“_Oya!_” came the dutiful response.

Dala scowled and signaled for a nearby trooper, Dogg, to move up to the hole. Smoke was wafting lazily up out of the gap, spiderweb cracks still snaking out from the epicenter. The man slowly stepped forward, rifle trained on the the dark hole in front of him. Jay could see him sweating visibly, his chest rising and falling with quick, frightened breaths. He drew up next to the hole, then let out a long, pent-up breath and pulled a frag grenade off his belt. A single press of a bright red button primed the detonator and it began to beep frantically.

“Frag out,” he called and tossed the flashing orb down the hole. Seconds later it detonated, sending a spray of dirt and dust flying up into the air. The man grimaced and looked away, covering his face with one hand.

When the dust finally settled, Dala cleared his throat and called, “That do it, son?”

“I dunno,” the man said with a shrug. “Seems all quiet for-”

A low, baritone rumble burbled up out of the hole. The man spun back to face it, as did all the other Mandalorians in the room. Jay's weapon was instantly raised, pointing at the hole in the floor. She narrowed her eyes and muttered, “This just went from bad to worse.”

“Like I said,” Gunslinger muttered. “Bullshit-Bullseye.”

Another deep buzz echoed up from the darkness, so deep Jay could feel it in the pit of her stomach. Several Mandos took cautious steps away from the hole. The trooper standing on the lip of the blasted-out crater took a step closer and squeezed the firing stud of his rifle. He fired again and again into the hole, unloading a full magazine down into the shadows.

He paused to reload, ejecting the mag and pulling a new one from his belt. He was about to raise the weapon again when one of the Mandos staggered back, eyes wide, and shouted, “Dogg! Get back!”

Dogg turned back to the hole just in time to see a long tail built from reflective black armor plating as it snaked up out of the hole. It curled up into the air like the tail of a rearing sand-scorpion, and with a screech of tortured metal a series of prongs scraped open on the tail's end. Then tail sliced forward through the air and the prongs grabbed him around the face. The man screamed as he was pulled forward, down into darkness. Seconds later his scream was cut abruptly short, followed by deep, dark rumble.

“_Jacht_!” someone shouted, using the man's real name.

“Get _back_!” Dala roared. “Get out of the building!”

Seconds later a huge, leathery green arm reached up out of the hole, a large hand grabbing a fist full of duracrete. Seconds later an equally large hand grabbed the lip as well. With a large, metallic groan something huge and muscular, covered in reflective black armor plating hauled itself up out of the hole. With footsteps that rattled the broken cabinets, the creature stepped up out of the hole and drew itself to its full height.

Jay's aim faltered. That figure, that synthetic drone... _That can't be who I think it is_.

“D'harhan?” she said.

The being's massive head-cannon swiveled to face her. She was almost glad to see him until she saw his status lights warming from green to yellow to deadly red. He clenched a massive fist and boomed, “_PRIMARY TARGET ACQUIRED. COMMENCING ATTACK._”

She shifted her shotgun to one hand and said, “No, D'harhan, it's me! It's-”

A second later, he fired.

~~~~~~~~

**Keldabe Enforcement Office, Downtown Keldabe**

Brianna sighed as she stepped through the door to the interrogation hall, a thick file of flimsiplast papers in one hand. There was a loud buzz over the internal loudspeakers as the door locked behind her. She looked up at the two figures seated at the interrogation table, then shook her head and sighed.

“You have to be kidding me.”

The Handmaiden almost smiled. “We are forming quite the gathering in this holding cell.”

Vhetin spat out a curse, handcuffed to the chair next to her. “Brianna, you have to get these officers to listen to me! Caranthyr is out there, disguised as an enforcement officer, and-”

“Caranthyr is gone,” Brianna sighed. “The car he was in was found broken down along an empty street south of here. Both officers were dead.”

Vhetin stared at her for a few moments, then looked silently down at his lap. His helmet faceplate betrayed no emotion, but Brianna could tell he was devastated. She took a seat across from him. “Cin, there was nothing you could do-”

“No, there was,” he snapped. “I... I tried to take Caranthyr, but...”

He shook his head. “I couldn't. I-I _couldn't._ He just kept regenerating, and...”

He lapsed into silence, shaking his head again. Eventually, he snapped, “Caranthyr said that D'harhan was working for him now. Whether it's by choice or because of one of those damn collars... I don't know. But he said D'harhan was going after Jay. You need to let me go so I can stop that from happening.

“Then it's your lucky day,” Brianna said. She flipped open the file on the table and pulled out the first flimsiplast sheet. She slid it across the table toward the two, then folded her hands. “I've managed to secure your release. It wasn't easy, but the enforcement office has agreed to let you two go. Provided you complete your contract and continue investigating these murders.”

“At last,” the Handmaiden said. “I am eager to return to the-”

“And,” Brianna continued, “once this contract is over, both of you will serve community service time with the city guard. With these attacks, the office is desperate to fill missing positions training new recruits. You two just volunteered.”

Vhetin looked up at her sharply. “I didn't do anything illegal! That officer they thought I killed was Caranthyr in disguise!”

The Handmaiden was similarly outraged. “My actions led to the continuation of this hunt! Without me-”

“These orders came directly from Fenn Shysa himself,” Brianna said forcefully. “No refusing them. The city guard needs you, whether you broke the law or not. Shysa has decided to make an example out of you for the common good.”

Vhetin sighed and looked down again, falling silent. Handmaiden, however, narrowed her ice-blue eyes and hissed, “I owe no allegiance to this leader of yours. I am free to-”

Brianna interrupted again. These matters were too important to suffer the Echani's tongue. “You will follow these orders, Handmaiden, or the enforcement office will throw you into a cell for the rest of your natural life for murdering a Mandalorian citizen.”

“She was a foreigner like me.”

“She was a _citizen of Mandalore_,” Brianna said through gritted teeth. “And you killed her. So now, the Mandalorians that run this place have decided that you will do your part to help the people of this city. You owe them that much.”

The Handmaiden stared at her, as if challenging the order. But after a few seconds the fire died from her eyes and she bowed her head. “Very well. It would be a privilege for these barbarians to learn combat from a warrior of my caliber.”

“However you justify it,” Brianna sighed. “As long as these rules are followed, you two can go free.”

Vhetin sighed and shrugged. “Deal, I guess. Not like I have much of a choice.”

Brianna turned to the camera mounted on the wall behind her and nodded. Seconds later, the cuffs binding Vhetin and the Handmaiden to their seats clicked open. Handmaiden flexed her sore arms, rubbing her wrists and stretching languidly. Vhetin, however, was instantly out of the chair and heading for the door.

“Send every available soldier to Jay's last known location,” he said. “If D'harhan is really going after her, you'll need all the firepower you can get.”

“You can't take D'harhan on your own,” Brianna said. “Not in your state.”

“No,” Vhetin snarled. “I couldn't kill Caranthyr, but I'll be damned if I sit by and let that bastard win this game of his. I'm going to take D'harhan down or I'm going to take him out, but I am _not_ letting him get to Jay.”

He pointed a finger at her. “So you get these gold idiots to send every available trooper they have to that shootout downtown. Tell them to bring their biggest guns and to bring them _all_.”

He grabbed the doorhandle and pulled it open. “I'll meet you there.”

The Handmaiden watched him go, then finally smiled for real. She stood from her chair and followed him. “If what the Mandalorian says is true, he will need more than guns to combat that brute. He will need my services as well.”

She stepped through the door as well, pulling her white hood over her head as she went. Brianna watched her go, then scooped up the flimsiplast files and followed them.

~~~~~~~~

**Downtown Keldabe (Slums)**

Janada ducked into a nearby alley with a muttered curse. She slowly peeked around the corner, watching intently as a force of around ten white-armored stormtroopers marched by on patrol. As they drew near, she pressed her back to the wall and edged back further into the shadows. Once they had passed, she darted out into the street, hand on the hilt of one of her treasured _kad'ikase. _As she neared the other side of the street, a dark armored figure seemed to melt out of the shadows. Janada pointedly kept her helmet on, not wanting to give this son of a bitch the chance catch her identity on vid.

“You got the stuff?” she hissed, folding her arms.

The man narrowed his eyes. “I got it. You got the cash?”

Janada pulled a pouch of credit chips from her belt and tossed it to the man. She took in as many details about him as she could, filing it away for reference in case she needed to kill him later. He had a pale, bald head, dark eyes, and dirty dark green armor. He had a sinister air about him, and the wickedly curved _beskad_ saber over his shoulder didn't exactly put her at ease.

The man hefted the pouch with a nasty smile, then tossed her a second pouch, made of a clear plastoid material. Unlike her payment, this pouch didn't carry credits; it was filled to bursting with a dark, scarlet powder. Janada saw it and instantly recoiled.

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” she snapped.

“The Boss wanted to give you somethin' a little extra,” the bald man snickered. “In memory of... past services rendered.”

“Fuck you,” Janada snarled. Sometimes, _Mando'a _just didn't cut it as far as obscenities were concerned, and this man was seriously crossing the line. The fact that she hadn't killed him already was a testament to her patience. “I'm clean now. Everyone knows that.”

The man shrugged and held up his hands in surrender. “Consider it a gift, then. The info you want is in there too. If you don't want the extra, get rid of it. Sell it to someone else for all I care. _Manda_ knows your Clan could use the credits.”

Janada pulled her _kad'ika_ halfway from its sheath, just enough that the metallic scrape would catch the man's attention. The man jumped and hopped out of reach with a laugh. “All right, all right. I'll leave you be, Bralor. Happy trails, _vod_.”

He turned his back to her, then triggered a quick burst from his jetpack and rocketed up to roof level. He clambered up over the lip of the roof and looked down at her, throwing her one last jaunty salute before vanishing from sight.

Janada scowled as she drew her short blade and pierced the side of the plastoid pouch. Red Spice began to spill down onto the ground, but she paid it no mind. That _osik_ had already wrecked enough of her life already. She widened the hole, allowing the drugs to spill out quicker, then paused as something hard and metallic bounced to the stone at her feet. She knelt and sifted through the spice for a few moments before pulling a tiny datachip free. She straightened, turning the tiny device between her fingers and inspecting it.

_Standard-issue Aratech datachip_, she thought to herself. _Too small to hold tracers or viruses. I think for once they were true to their word._

But Janada knew men like them were never true to their word. And sure enough, when she plugged the chip into the port on the back of her helmet, she found that the chip contained no data. Just a video file showing a man she hated more than anyone else in Keldabe.

The video showed the blurry image of a middle-aged man with a thick black beard and close-cropped black hair. He had a dark, intricate tribal tattoo stretching across his jaw and up the sides of his face. One eye had been replaced with advanced cybernetics; the original, Janada knew, had been lost fighting in the Clone Wars.

“Ixas Talashi,” she sighed, narrowing her eyes.

“_Janada,” _the man said in return. His voice was smooth, with the trace of an educated Coruscanti accent; he had been born, raised, and educated on the capital world, much like Brianna. He was intelligent, ruthless, and cruel. He'd been a major player in the Mandalorian drug operation when Janada had worked as a dealer, though his wits had helped him escape justice when the ring eventually collapsed. By the looks of things, he'd regained much of his former power.

“_By the time you see this_,” Ixas continued, “_my agent will have received payment for the information you requested. Unfortunately, I can't blindly trust someone like you with such sensitive knowledge.”_

“There's always a catch, isn't there?” she muttered to herself. She tossed aside the pouch of Red Spice and brushed the remaining scarlet powder off her gloves. She then stepped back out onto the street, putting as much distance between herself and the hated substance as possible.

“_I'm still willing to part with the data,_” Ixas drawled, “_you did, after all, pay for the privilege. And I am, at heart, a businessman more than anything else.”_

Janada scoffed. “You're a heartless bastard who profits from other people's misery. But that's just me, I guess.”

“_So you will meet me at the _Oyu'baat _plaza in twenty minutes' time. There, I will give you the information you seek, in person. Come alone and without weapons. I will do the same.”_

Janada was about to power off the vid. But Ixas had one last surprise message to impart. He sighed and said, “_And from former employer to former employee: I advise you to prepare for what you're getting yourself into, Janada.”_

The vid cut out and Janada could hear the telltale sounds of the datachip frying its internal components, rendering it useless to anyone else. She pulled it from its port with a sigh and tossed it aside. After it clattered to the ground, she stomped on it hard and ground the delicate machinery into dust.

What was Talashi planning? She hadn't seen the man in years, not since before she had been imprisoned. She was pretty sure he wanted to see her, the employee that had led to the complete breakdown of his organization, about as much as she wanted to see him.

_Kriff this_, she thought. She wasn't going to play by his rules. She wanted backup. But with Vhetin tied up with the investigation, the list of people she wanted at her back was slim. Verdo was her obvious second choice, but he was at work as well. Rame and Mia were on their farm, too far away to reach the city in time. That left one person on her list. Janada sighed and thought, _Figures. She's the last person I want watching my back right now._

But it was her only option. So she opened up her comm unit and dialed out a calling code. There were two dialing tones before a muffled click signified that someone on the other end had picked up.

“_Brianna Bellan,_” the voice on the comm said smoothly. “_State your business_.”

“Brianna,” Janada said. “I'm glad I caught you before you got tied up again. I need backup, and you're the only one available to help me.”

“_Am I now?”_

“Yeah,” Janada said flatly. “Now, I know you and me aren't on the best terms right now-”

“_Last time we saw each other one-on-one, you punched me. In the face._”

Janada grimaced. She wasn't surprised the woman still held that against her. “You'd just told me to face facts and accept that my little brother was dead. You then went on to say you were dumping my dead brother for a hotshot Mando merc. You kinda deserved it.”

There was a long pause, then Brianna said, “_I guess... maybe I did.”_

“Look,” Janada sighed. Time was ticking. “Let's put the past behind us. The fact is, I need a second gun and you're the only one I can get. It's kind of important.”

“_Related to the investigation?”_

“Of course. I'm tracking down intel on to Caranthyr's drug ring here in Keldabe. That's puttin' me face-to-face with some real scumbags. I'd feel better if I had a good shot like you watching my back.”

The bounty huntress sounded conflicted. “_I... we've had some complications. Jay may be in danger. We're going to give her support.”_

“That girl who's working with Cin? What's wrong with her?”

“_It sounds like Caranthyr is planning to attack her. It may be because she's getting too close to him_.”

“Good. That's good.”

“_Good? You're a piece of work, Bralor. She could die!”_

“But while Caranthyr thinks she's the biggest threat, he's not paying attention to little ol' me.”

“_What the bloody hell are you talking about? What kind of intel do you have on him?”_

“Vhetin asked me to reach out to a few contacts from my days as a drug carrier. I managed to get ahold of one of my former employers.”

“_Which one? It isn't Ixas Talashi, is it? That man is one of the most dangerous Mandalorians in Keldabe._”

“Got it in one,” Janada said. “But before you say-”

“_Shut up_,” Brianna snapped. “_Where are you meeting?”_

“The _Oyu'baat_ plaza. Twenty minutes.”

“_Get there,_” Brianna said. “_I'll meet you on the way.”_

“Thank... thank you?” Janada was confused. A second ago, Brianna was resisting the idea. Now she was ready and able to meet up? That infuriating _aruetii _woman's mood sometimes changed on a dime.

“_I don't trust Talashi to play by whatever rules he's set down. And if you're calling me, you probably feel the same. Vhetin's got that Echani running combat support and a full strike team of enforcement officers at his back, so he doesn't need me. I'll meet you in five.”_

“Okay. Sounds good. And Brianna?”

“_What?”_

“Thanks, _vod_.”

Her use of the Mandalorian word for _sister_ was very obvious. Brianna was silent for a few moments, then she cleared her throat and said, “_Just get to the plaza. I'll meet you before then and we'll make our way there together._”

“Aye,” Janada said. “See you soon.”

As she signed off the comm, she narrowed her eyes. She was sure this wasn't a good idea, but she knew Talashi had some kind of trick up his sleeve and she'd be damned if she was going to let him manipulate her again. There were probably hundreds of people better suited for the job than Brianna, but for all her faults, the woman was loyal and a good shot. In the end, that was all Janada needed.

She cursed as she turned the corner, emerging onto a busy street. She should have stayed in up in the Bone City jail, away from all this drama. Now she was caught up in these death-defying events into which her brother was so fond of throwing himself. She wouldn't be surprised if he actually ended up dead one of these days, and Janada with him; looking at her current scenario, she was starting to believe that day was coming sooner than she thought. The plaza wasn't exactly a discreet place to meet, and if she was caught talking to one of her old drug-dealer contracts she'd be sent straight back to Imperial prison for violating her parole terms. She would die before that happened.

_But if I do get caught,_ she thought, _Brianna will go down with me. At least I'll have someone to talk to in lockup this time around._

Yes, Brianna would do. And it would give them time to talk with calmer heads than they had previously. Like Brianna had said, their last conversation had degraded to physical blows. Janada and Brianna had been friends for years and it was difficult for that friendship to be strained to the point of breaking. But Janada was loyal to her family above all else. In the current conflict between Brianna and her ex-boyfriend, Janada was and would always be on Vhetin's side.

She was glad he wasn't here for this. She loved her little brother, even if he wasn't related by blood. But Talashi was a character from a very dark period of her history, and she didn't want that part of her past to spill over into Vhetin's life. _Te Manda_ knew that man had enough trouble on his plate as it was.

She was so immersed in her thoughts that she ran headlong into a Mandalorian almost a foot taller than she was. She recoiled, saying, “Fierfek, I'm sorry, man, I didn't mean to-”

She trailed off as she saw who she was speaking to. It was a tall man in polished black armor with red trim. His flight suit sleeves were cut under the shoulders, revealing his muscled, tattooed arms. His helmet was black and red as well, with two blazing yellow eyes drawn onto the helmet forehead. They weren't _Jaig_ eyes, but they were obviously meant to look similar. The helmet also had two long slash-like lines stretching vertically down the helmet. The markings, when compared with the eyes on the forehead, gave the illusion that the man's helmet was really the head of a man-sized serpent.

Janada's heart sank, knowing all too well the man who was lurking behind that helmet. She cursed inwardly and thought, _This day just keeps getting worse and worse..._

“Galaar Ash'amur,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “What're you doing here?”

“What, I'm suddenly not allowed to travel around my own city?” Galaar replied calmly. He stepped out of the flow of people and Janada cautiously followed. He pulled off his helmet and clipped it to his belt, tucking his long brown hair behind his ears. “I'm just out for a stroll.”

“Funny,” Janada said. “But this isn't exactly the most savory part of town, _Snake_. Why are you here?”

“I could ask the same of you,” Snake shot back, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“Work for the enforcement office,” Janada said. “Possibly making some arrests.”

She didn't want to give too much information to this _shabuir_. Janada didn't really hold grudges against people she didn't know, but in this case she was on her brother's side; Galaar was – put bluntly – a pure, raving asshole. He was arrogant, narcissistic, and overly violent. That rubbed Janada the wrong way, and the fact that this towering thug was running around with her little brother's ex just added salt to the wound. She held it against Galaar and she held it against Brianna as well.

She knew he'd find some flaw in her words. And sure enough, Snake now had his ammunition and fired away. He laughed and said, “Funny. You're usually being arrested _by_ the enforcement office. You've been out now for, what, a day? Two? I'm surprised you're actually working _with _them for once.”

Janada rested her hands on her armored hips. “You have somethin' you want to say, Ash'amur?”

“Yeah,” Snake said, deadly serious now. He took a step toward her. Janada did not retreat. “I want to know what you're doing in this part of town. If you're really on that bombing case with Brianna, I want to know if what you're doing is putting her in danger.”

“Well you're in luck,” Janada said, stepping past him and continuing on her way. “I'm on my way to meet her now. If you want to tag along and give her a kiss for good luck, you won't find any resistance from me. Just stay out of my way and make sure I don't have to boot you back into line like the kath hound you are.”

Snake sneered at her as he pulled his helmet back over his head. “You're always so hostile, Bralor. You really think I'm such a bad guy?”

“You tried to punch Aliana in the face because you'd had one too many beers at the _Oyu'baat_ and she wasn't falling for your _drunk pretty-boy_ routine. If she'd been as stupid and gullible as you are, you'd have cheated on Brianna only weeks after getting together with her. Not very honorable of you.”

“So you say,” Snake replied. “I think you'll find I'm not the awful person you think I am. You just have to get to know me better.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. In my opinion, Bellan should dump your sorry ass the next time she sees you and get back together with my _vod'ika_. You're the single worst thing that has ever happened to her.”

She shrugged. “I would say _no _offense, but it wouldn't be sincere.”

Snake threw his head back and laughed. “You want her to go back to Cin Vhetin? That sorry excuse for a Mandalorian?”

Janada rounded on him. “Watch your tongue, _burc'ya_. That's my _vod_ you're talkin' about.”

Snake raised his chin, puffing out his chest slightly. “I stand by what I said. That man is a mess. He's self-absorbed, self-destructive, and self-pitying. He's too weak to be considered one of us. Mandalorians are _strong_. If I was Mandalore, I'd proclaim him _dar'manda_ myself.”

Before the man could blink, one of Janada's _kad'ikase_ was out and pressed against the fabric collar at his throat. She grabbed the back of his neck so he couldn't recoil, bringing them both almost helmet-to-helmet. Her lips were drawn back in a feral snarl as she hissed, “Now you listen to me, _vod_. That's my kriffing _brother_ you're talking about. He's not perfect, but he is of _Clan Bralor _and a greater warrior than you could ever hope to be. And if you _ever_ talk bad about him again I won't hesitate to slit your throat myself.”

Galaar leaned forward and snarled, “Do it. I stand by my words. Cin Vhetin is an example of everything wrong with Mandalorians today. I won't take that back just because you put your little kitchen knife to my throat. So if you need to do it...”

He grabbed her gauntlet and dragged her closer. “Then _do it_.”

Janada stared him down, fury burning in her chest. Then she spat a curse and stepped away, sheathing her blade. She tried to regain control of her rage, but her hotheadedness would not let her sit idly by. She turned back to him, fists shaking with rage. She pointed a finger at his chest and snapped, “You're lucky I hold Brianna in higher regard than I hold you. If not, you'd be dead right now.”

Galaar adjusted his collar and murmured, “Whatever helps you sleep at night, _vod_.”

Janada tightened her grip on her dagger hilts, wanting nothing more than to bury them deep in Galaar's chest. But before she could change her mind Brianna appeared, jogging around the corner dressed in her fourth-gen hunting gear.

Fourth-gen referred to the fact that it was the woman's fourth self-designed hunting suit. She had traded up a month before, coming to Janada personally to look for better gear.

Her new kit was twice as durable, but just as revealing, as her previous armoring. Her suit consisted of a dark green, blaster-resistant duraleather vest with short sleeves and a surprisingly low neckline. Over the vest she wore a heavy _beskar _neck guard that stretched into segmented Mando iron shoulder plates that flexed and clanked together every time she shifted her arms. On her forearms, she wore two heavy duraleather gauntlets, one with a wrist-mounted HoloNet uplink pad. She also had thick, military-grade work pants with traditional Mandalorian knee pads and heavy combat boots. Tied around her neck was a camouflage-patterned bandana she used as an identity-concealing face mask. A collection of ceremonial Mandalorian beaded combat braids hung from her belt – symbolizing her service with the local militia – and she had the True Mandalorian _kyrbes_, the symbol of the Mandalorian protectors, emblazoned across an armband on her left bicep.

She came to a halt in front of them, eyeing Janada's tight grip on her _kad'ikase_ hilts. She narrowed her eyes cautiously and said, “Everything all right?”

“Fine,” Janada said through gritted teeth. “We need to go if we want to hit the plaza in time.”

Brianna nodded, then noticed Snake standing just beyond. Her lips stretched into a warm smile as she embraced him. “Galaar? What are you doing here?”

The big man shrugged. “I was in the neighborhood. Ran across your friend here and wanted to know if everything was all right.”

“It's fine,” Janada insisted. “Now leave the big girls to their work, tough guy.”

She turned and set off down the street, her ceremonial Mandalorian cape billowing out behind her. On her helmet's 360-cam, she saw Brianna roll her eyes. Her helmet's audio receptors picked up the woman saying, “Don't bother with her, Galaar. Come with us; you can provide some cover if things get nasty.”

“It'd be my pleasure.”

Behind her helmet, Janada rolled her eyes and mimicked, “_It'd be my pleasure_. What are you, a kriffing youngling? Gonna help little old ladies across the street next?”

Thankfully the sentiment was hidden behind a thick sheet of _beskar_ and transparisteel, so the two went completely unawares. To Janada's fury, a smug smile was spread across Galaar's stupid face. She clenched a fist and thought, _I can't wait until you slip up, _vod_. One toe out of line..._

What infuriated her the most about Galaar was how fake he really was. Around Brianna, he was charming and generous, a model Mandalorian. But it was just a facade and everyone, even Brianna, knew it; around anyone else, he was rude, arrogant, and downright malicious. He had a well-established violent streak and was known among Supercommandos as being vicious as any of Norac Benz's Berserkers. Brianna knew this, but she refused to acknowledge it. It was almost as if she was scared that if she left her asshole boyfriend she'd have no choice but to go back to Vhetin.

Janada knew that Stripes wasn't the easiest person to get along with, but it had been better for the both of them when they were still together. It was difficult to see her little brother pining over Brianna, but the huntress seemed determined to stay away. Janada didn't like prying into other people's affairs unless it was juicy _Oyu'baat_ gossip, and other people's romantic lives were just too convoluted for her to be comfortable. Needless to say, her little brother wasn't the only one stressed out because of his issues with the _aruetii_ huntress.

“So what exactly did Ixas say?” Brianna suddenly said.

“He said for me to meet him at the _Oyu'baat_ plaza. He said to come alone and without weapons.”

“Well, you've already broken his first rule,” Galaar muttered. Brianna nudged him in the ribs to silence him.

“Are you going to show up unarmed?” Brianna asked. “What if it's a trap?”

“I don't need weapons to defend myself,” Janada growled. “I've got my hands, feet, and armor. That's enough for me.”

“I'm not so sure I want to my weapons up,” the other woman muttered. “Talashi can't be trusted.”

“Give them to me,” Snake suddenly piped up. “I'll hang back, keep an eye on you two.”

“No offense,” Janada said, “but I'm not going to hand you my _kad'ikase_.”

“It's all right, Jan,” Brianna reassured her. “He'll give them back. I'll make sure he does.”

Janada narrowed her eyes, muttering a curse behind her helmet. “Fine. But if you make any funny moves I'm coming after you once I'm finished with Talashi.”

“Will do,” Snake said. “Your puny daggers aren't worth the trouble anyway.”

Janada bit her bottom lip hard to keep back the curse that worked its way up through her throat. Her hand clenched into a fist, so tight her arm shook. Snake, meanwhile, was grinning in smug self-satisfaction. Brianna glared at the man, but said nothing.

They walked in blessed silence for several long minutes. Eventually, they came to a stop at the end of the street corner, only a few blocks from the _Oyu'baat_ now. Janada drew her small group to a halt and sighed. “All right. Snake, you get the weapons. Hang back and _do not_ do anything to provoke these _shabuire_.”

“Not provoking people isn't exactly a strong suit of mine,” Snake grunted, “but I'll do what I can.”

_This is a stupid idea_, she thought to herself. But she knew it was the only option open to them, so she unsheathed her two longdaggers and handed them, hilt first, to the burly Mandalorian man. Her pistol quickly followed, as did her gauntlet-mounted rocket launcher. Snake attached the launcher to his own vambrace and tucked her daggers into his belt. Brianna handed over her treasured twin pistols and the lethal _bes'kad _saber she had sheathed across her back.

“Stay here,” Janada said. “And whatever you do, don't let them get a look of you.”

“Aye,” Galaar said, rolling his eyes. “I'll be a good boy and stay out of trouble.”

“Make sure you do,” she growled. If he put one toe out of line, nothing would stop her boot from being stuffed up his ass before he could so much as blink. She didn't want to leave the only family heirlooms she had with that asshole, but she didn't have a choice.

She pulled her helmet off and clipped it to her belt before jerking her head for Brianna to follow her. “Let's go. We shouldn't keep these scumbags waiting.”

Brianna gestured to the plaza beyond. “After you.”


	12. D'harhan's Devastation

**Downtown Shootout**

“Out! Everybody out!”

Jay somersaulted to avoid another explosive cannon round. D'harhan was laying waste to their forces still stuck inside the building. And between the fight for their lives inside and the troopers outside gathering to see what the commotion was about, the exit door was little more than a kill zone.

D'harhan let out a booming synthetic roar, slamming his fists into a nearby Mandalorian's chest. The man went flying bodily through the air, slamming into the far wall hard enough to knock pictures to the floor. Without pausing, D'harhan pivoted and grabbed another Mando by the helmet, throwing him to the ground before crushing his chest under one massive, armored foot.

The huge alien's tail was wreaking just as much havok. Jay ducked as it darted for her, coiling back like a striking snake. The serrated grasping prongs clanked together once, twice, three times, as if irritated by her resistance. She fired her shotgun at it, which made the tail slither away through the air while D'harhan roared and spun to her. He took one step before Gunslinger tackled him from behind, wrapping his arms around the alien's considerably thick neck and holding on for dear life.

D'harhan let out a blast of synthetic buzzing and recoiled, knocking the man from his shoulders. He turned to finish him off, balling up a fist larger than Gunslinger's head. The man groggily rolled onto his back, too slow to escape what was coming. D'harhan slammed his fist down and there was the sound of flesh hammering metal. Gunslinger screamed, loud enough to drown out the sound. D'harhan pulled his fist back and punched down again, driving Gunslinger further into the ground. Jay could see that the abuse was actually driving Gunslinger's _beskar_-alloy armor plating into his chest, crushing the hard metal against his ribcage. Much more of the attack and D'harhan would kill him.

Jay fired her shotgun almost point-blank into D'harhan's back, but the blaster bolts had no effect. D'harhan's leathery green skin was naturally resistant to blaster fire, which allowed him to shrug off incoming shots like he was doing now. It would take more firepower than they currently had at their disposal to seriously injure him.

With a thunderous battle cry, Gundark suddenly leaped from the balcony above, bringing his huge _beskar_ shield crashing down on the alien below him The blow knocked D'harhan off his feet, sending the massive alien smashing to the ground hard enough to shake the building to its foundations. A coolant tube on D'harhan's neck ruptured, spraying blue-white fluid into the air.

Gundark landed hard, slamming his shield against the ground and shouted, “Bring it on you _aruetii osik'kov!_”

D'harhan let out a creaking grumble as he began pushing himself to his feet once again. But Gundark wasn't about to give him time to recover; he slammed his shield forward, knocking D'harhan away. He followed up by thrusting the shield forward again, horizontally this time so the honed edge of the rectangular block of _beskar_ hit D'harhan square in the gut. The alien doubled over, huge hands clutching his stomach.

“Go!” Gundark boomed. “I'll hold him off!”

“Gundark,” Gunslinger gasped, staggering to his feet. “You can't-”

“_Go!_”

Jay slung an arm under Gunslinger's shoulder and helped him limp toward the door. “Come on. We have to get you out of here.”

Gundark, meanwhile, was keeping D'harhan more than busy. Even though the Mandalorian was nowhere near D'harhan's size or strength, his armor and his sheer ferocity seemed to be keeping the murderous cyborg at bay. Jay hoped the soldier could keep unwanted attention away from her and the rest of the troopers long enough for them to evac.

“Go!” she shouted to the few stragglers still recovering from D'harhan's ambush. She shoved a trooper out the door. “Get out of here!”

She didn't feel relieved when she and Gunslinger staggered together into the fresh air outside. Enforcement officers were everywhere, calling in backup, setting up weapons emplacements, blocking off roads. In a matter of moments, the operation had switched from a shootout to an all-out warzone.

_The scary thing,_ she thought to herself as she helped Gunslinger toward the outpost across the street, _is that I'm not sure they have enough firepower to take D'harhan down_.

She didn't know why her alien friend had suddenly gone berserk. All she knew now was that she needed to get her and her friends as far away from this nightmare as possible. Caranthyr was behind this somehow, she knew it. And whether D'harhan had defected or was somehow under the changeling's sway, she wasn't going to let any more innocents get caught in the crossfires.

“Here,” she said as a med-tech sprinted toward them. She handed Gunslinger off with a pat on his shoulder pad. “I'll be right back. I promise.”

“Aye,” Gunslinger said hoarsely. “Be careful.”

She nodded and sprinted toward Tobbi Dala, who was ordering nearby troopers to set up E-Web cannon emplacements along the front of the outpost across the street. His face was bruised and battered, his armor smoking from the backlash of one of D'harhan's cannon rounds. In all, he looked like he'd gone twelve rounds with a Wampa, but he looked furious enough to ignore his pain. She took a moment to reload her shotgun while he finished, then said, “What do we do? Our guys are getting murdered in there.”

“_My _guys,” Dala growled. “Not _ours_.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “Is this _really_ the time to go all racist on me? Just answer the damn question!”

Dala gestured to the cannon emplacements being set up along the street. The weapons were impressive, but there were just too few to make a difference. D'harhan could level half the emplacements with a single shot if he wanted to. Jay got the feeling he was going to do so before the hour was up.

“We're going to pin him down with overlapping fields of stun round fire. Our blasters aren't doing _osik_ to penetrate his alien hide, but maybe electro-shock rounds will at least slow him down.”

“And if it doesn't?”

Dala scowled. “We're not equipped to kill him. At the moment, our main priority is to slow him down while we get our wounded out of here. Then we evac to the enforcement office, regroup, and prepare for him to follow us.”

“But how are we going to _stop_ him?”

Dala shook his head. “I don't know.”

Denton and Trainee Ruusan were suddenly standing at Jay's shoulder. Ruusan shook her head and said, “Did I hear you right? We're retreating?”

“Aye.”

“But Mandos don't retreat.”

Dala spat out a curse and gestured to the building behind them, from which the sounds of the battle between D'harhan and Gundark were still raging. “You wanna head in there and go toe-to-toe with that alien brute, be my guest. But there's a difference between standing your ground and needlessly committing suicide. All I'm concerned with now is the evacuation of my wounded men. You have a problem with that, take it up with D'harhan.”

Ruusan blinked, surprised by the other Mandalorian's sudden ferocity. She then gulped visibly and said, “What are your orders, sir?”

“Regroup with the rest of the functioning officers,” Dala growled. “We're going to form a firing line, shoot a volley at him when the time is right. Jay, Denton, secure a speeder. I want you to put as much space between yourselves and this battlefield as possible.”

“Sir,” Denton protested, “I can stay and-”

“I gave you an _order_, Officer Dral. I expect you to follow it.”

“But-”

“The fact is that for whatever reason, D'harhan seems to be focused on taking out your girlfriend, Officer. So I'm banking on the fact that if you two beat feet out of here, he'll follow you. That'll give me time to get my men out of harm's way and find a way to take this son of a bitch out.”

He took a step forward and pressed a finger against Denton's chest plate. “So I expect you to get in a damned speeder, take your damned girlfriend with you, and get that goddamned alien out of this area. Do I make myself clear?”

Denton sighed and saluted. “Yes sir.”

“Good,” Dala said. He then turned to the Mandalorians behind him and thrust his rifle over his head as he roared, “_Oya_, _Mando'ade! _It's a good day for someone else to die!”

The assembled Mandalorians let loose with a responding cry of “_Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur!_”

“_That's_ what I like to hear!” Dala snarled. He drew his helmet over his head and fell into place with the other soldiers, raising his rifle and preparing for the inevitable battle. “Get ready!”

Denton nudged Jay's shoulder, the jerked his head to the ambulance where med-techs were loading Gunslinger onto a stretcher. The pounding he'd received from D'harhan had shattered his ribcage, and he was being taken to the nearest medcenter for treatment. Jay felt bad that they would have to take the ambulance, but there were no other speeders around.

Before they could explain their orders to the med-techs, there was a huge crash from inside the building. With a cacophony of grinding rock, screeching metal, and screaming human, Gundark was blasted through the thick wall of the building. He flew through the air before crumpling to the ground, a half-meter hole burned through his chest.

D'harhan lumbered through the hole he had just created, holding Gundark's armored flak vest in one hand. As he emerged onto the street, armored tail undulating back and forth through the air over his shoulder, he tossed the vest toward Dala's position.

“_DID YOU SERIOUSLY THINK YOUR PRECIOUS ARMOR WOULD PROTECT YOU FROM ME?”_

“_Gundark!”_ Gunslinger managed to shout, reaching out to his fallen comrade. “You bastard!”

Dala spoke up now, shouting over Gunslinger's grieved sobs. “Stop this now, D'harhan. Power down your weapon and come with us peacefully back to the station. There's been enough bloodshed for one day.”

D'harhan's head-cannon focused on the Mandalorian Warrior with a deep computerized rumble and the telltale whine of hydraulics. He cocked his “head” to one side, as if curious and his status lights cooled to a dull gold glow. “_I HAVE A JOB TO DO. YOU ARE IMPEDING THE COMPLETION OF A CONTRACT.”_

“And what is your contract?” Dala inquired.

“_THE APPREHENSION AND ELIMINATION OF THE CHANGELING TARGET CORO CARANTHYR_. _I WAS ADVISED BY MY COMPANION, FLESHLING MOQENA, TO INTERCEDE ON YOUR BEHALF._”

Dala blinked, obviously surprised. Jay was just as shocked. Jay had indeed asked for his help in bringing Caranthyr to justice. But if D'harhan wasn't fighting against them, why was he killing their men? What did he know that Jay and the others didn't?

Dala said as much. “Then why are you attacking our men?”

“_BECAUSE YOUR GATHERING OF FLESHLING WARRIORS IS HARBORING MY TARGET.”_

Shocked whispers went up and down the line of assembled troopers. Jay mirrored their shock.

_Caranthyr is here?_ _And he's being sheltered by one of our own? _It made sense that Caranthyr would have a man on the inside, but who could it be? Dala had vouched for all these men and women. Caranthyr must be far more persuasive than she originally thought.

She took a step toward D'harhan and raised such concerns. “So you're not after us, D? You're just after Caranthyr?”

His head-cannon instantly snapped to her position. Its status lights burst into fiery red and he rumbled, “_PRIMARY CONTACT ACQUIRED. COMMENCING ATTACK_.”

“Oh, shit!” Jay ducked as D'arhan clamped his tail and fired, sending a human-sized cannon bolt sizzling through the air over her head. It collided with a building further down the street, burning out the entire ground floor and setting nearby buildings on fire.

“That answer's good enough for me!” Denton shouted. He grabbed Jay's arm and hauled her toward the ambulence. “We have to go!”

D'harhan was lumbering after them, charging up his cannon for another shot. Dala, meanwhile, motioned for his troops to open fire. In the blink of an eye, the street erupted into a maelstrom of blue-white stun round fire. D'harhan staggered under the barrage, giving Jay and Denton time to jump in the speeder. Jay stuck her head out the window and gestured to the med-techs loading Gunslinger into the back. “Hurry up and get in!”

They were more than happy to comply. They quickly pushed Gunslinger inside, then hopped in the back. One of the med-techs secured Gunslinger to his stretcher and shouted, “Go! Go!”

Jay grasped the wheel tightly and floored the accelerator. The speeder let out a tortured screech and shot off down the street, racing away from the battlefield. Jay was about to let out a relieved breath when she looked at the rearview holo-readout. Through the readout, she saw D'harhan shake off the effects of the blaster fire and lurch after them. He took off at a fast lumber, armored feet pounding the ground. He moved faster than Jay thought possible for a creature his size. After only moments, he was beginning to close the gap between himself and the ambulance.

“_He's all yours now, you two_,” Dala said over comms. “_Just keep him occupied; reinforcements and air support is en route. We're not abandoning you.”_

D'harhan charged like a wild rancor, footsteps leaving tiny craters in the ground as he lumbered after the speeder. She'd always known he could move faster than his massive frame suggested, but she did not know just how quickly his cybernetics-enhanced body could carry him. He threw himself into the oncoming lane, swatting speeders aside like annoying insects. As Jay watched, D'harhan scooped up a speeder taxi barreling down on him, lifting above his robotic head and hurling it at them.

“Incoming!” Denton shouted. Jay yanked the wheel to one side, momentarily swerving into the oncoming lane to avoid the huge projectile. The dull gold taxi slammed hard into the road and began flipping end-over-end, sending shrapnel flying everywhere.

D'harhan, meanwhile, was simply forcing his way through traffic by either throwing aside other speeders or simply barreling over them and crushing them to a pulp under his weight. Now that he had momentum on his side, nothing short of a solid durasteel wall was going to slow him down.

“_Try and lure him toward the enforcement offices_,” Dala suggested over comms. “_I've got heavy riot troopers en route that may be able to pacify him. High ordnance, heavy restraints, pretty much our usual gear to bring down Barabel troublemakers.”_

Denton moved to reply when D'harhan unexpectedly fired. His forward momentum allowed him to attack without clamping his tail to use as a support strut, but the explosion did slow his progress slightly.

Jay jerked the wheel to the side again, causing the ambulance to swing wildly to the edge of the road. The cannon shot exploded just over a meter away. The detonation shook the speeder and Gunslinger let out a protesting shout as he was jostled about. The two med-techs did their best to stabilize him, but it did little good. D'harhan fired a second time and this time his round erupted against the duracrete road in front of them. Fire washed over the hood of the ambulance, searing the paint and twisting the metal.

The ambulance fishtailed as Jay fought to bring it back into the road. Denton flipped on the siren to warn anyone nearby of their approach. Oncoming speeders and pedestrians took note of the sound and quickly vacated the area, knowing that nothing good could be following the sounds of sirens and cannon fire.

As Jay struggled to get back on course, D'harhan quickly closed the gap between them. Jay pressed the accelerator pedal as hard as she could, but the alien's large steps brought them closer and closer together. He was quickly catching up to them, and in a few moments he would be right on top of them.

“Can't this thing go any faster?” Denton shouted. D'harhan was only a few meters behind now and gaining fast.

Jay pressed the accelerator harder, glancing worriedly between the road and their current speed. It was far too low for her comfort, and smoke was now billowing out from the hood in front of her. The vehicle was responding to her commands sluggishly, as if it was having difficulty turning. She grimaced and said, “I don't know! That last shot fried something inside!”

“Damn it,” Denton grunted. He retracted the passenger-side window and leaned out, drawing his pistol and firing at D'harhan in a vain attempt to slow him down. D'harhan let out a deep drone and fired again. This time, though, Jay was anticipating the attack and managed to pull the ambulance out of the way in time. The bolt carved a huge crater out of the side of a nearby building. Pedestrians on the street were blasted through the air and those lucky enough to escape the explosion quickly retreated, sprinting away as quickly as their feet could carry them.

Jay yanked the wheel to the left, sending the speeder careening down a side-street. Gunslinger moaned again and one of the med-techs called, “Careful up there! This guy can't take much more abuse!”

Jay did her best to follow their advice, turning the next corner a little easier. She glanced over her shoulder. “How's he doing?”

The med-tech grimaced. “We're trying to patch him up as best we can, but if we don't get him to a medcenter soon, he's not going to make it.”

“I'll get us there,” Jay said, pushing the accelerator. “Just hang on.”

“Jay,” Denton warned. When she didn't respond, he repeated, “_Jay_.”

“What?” she snapped back at him. Denton pulled himself back into the seat and reloaded his pistol. He glanced over his shoulder, then sat back in the seat with a relieved sigh. He pulled off his helmet and rested it between his knees before wiping sweat from his forehead.

“He's gone.”

Jay glanced over her shoulder as well and saw that the street behind them was empty, save for the various civilians vacating the area. D'harhan was nowhere to be seen. Jay narrowed her eyes as she turned back to face to road ahead. _Where could he have gone? What is he doing?_

Dala suddenly broke in over the ambulance comm. “_How are you guys doing?_”

Denton grabbed the comm unit and said, “Dral here. We just lost D'harhan. I think we're in the clear.”

“_He just disappeared?_”

Denton nodded. “Yes sir, we lost him. Must have given him the slip when we turned our last corner.”

Jay chipped in and said, “We're heading to the medcenter to drop off Gunslinger. Any orders after that?”

“_We've still got heavy ordnance at the station and we're getting authorization from Shysa now to put this quadrant of the city under lockdown.”_

“Any orders for us specifically?” Jay inquired.

“_Just get somewhere safe. D'harhan's after you, and I think it'd be a good idea for you two to get out of town._”

Denton snorted. “I think it'd be a better idea if we get somewhere in high orbit.”

“_No,_” Dala said forcefully. “_No ships. A ship would be a prime target for D'harhan's gun. Stay dirt-side and out of sight until I give you further orders._”

“Yes sir,” Denton said. “We'll head up into the mountains as soon as-”

“_Denton_!” Jay suddenly shouted. She slammed on the brakes as a dark green, hulking mass came barreling down a nearby alley. She tried to swerve out of the way, but it was too late. D'harhan slammed his heavy shoulder into the side of the ambulance. Jay felt like the entire world had been flipped upside-down in an instant. With a scream of tortured metal and the dying whine of the damaged siren, the ambulance flipped end-over-end, knocked right from its repulsors by the attack. Jay screamed as the speeder was knocked on its side and began rolling violently down the street.

She could see sparks dance in front of her eyes as the duracrete ground against the driver's-side window. The transparisteel peeled away like the lid of a food ration can as the speeder continued to roll. Denton let out a shout of his own as he was thrown forward into the dashboard, his head colliding hard against the durasteel console. There was a splash of blood and he went limp.

The world felt like it was ripping itself apart and Jay was tossed back and forth in her seat, her restraints digging into her body as she was thrown in all conceivable directions from the momentum. The front viewport shattered and part of the roof caved in on top of her. The front repulsors were ripped right from their housing, spinning off down the street with a clamor of destroyed metal.

Finally, the speeder stopped rolling, now skidding across the road. It slammed hard into a nearby comm tower, their movement suddenly and jarringly halted. Jay let out one last shout as she was thrust to the side, hanging by her seat belt.

She hung there for a time, head spinning, body aching. She groggily opened her eyes, blinking slowly, and tried to pull herself up. She grabbed the wheel to hold herself up and looked around. “Ugh... is everyone okay?”

“Aye,” one of the med-techs groaned from the back. “What the hell happened?”

Jay grimaced and put a hand to her throbbing forehead. “D'harhan... hit us from the side.”

She reached up and shook Denton's shoulder. “Denton? You okay?”

He didn't respond. She started to get worried and put two fingers to his neck, checking for a pulse. To her relief, there was a strong, steady pulse. _Unconscious, then_. _All right. I can work with unconscious._

She knew she probably shouldn't move him, but they didn't have a choice. Judging from the monotonous buzzing and droning coming from outside, D'harhan was still lumbering around. They needed to get free, quickly.

“_CORO CARANTHYR_,” D'harhan boomed outside. “_EXIT THE VEHICLE AND PLACE YOUR HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEAD OR I WILL BE FORCED TO OPEN FIRE._”

“D'harhan!” Jay managed to shout, struggling to unbuckle herself from her seat. There was a splitting pain in her side, and it felt like she had broken a few ribs in the wreck. Blood leaked from a cut on her temple, staining her gaze red. She groaned as she tugged at her seat belt, unable to pull herself free. “D'harhan, it's me! It's Jay!”

“_I REPEAT_,” D'harhan said, “_EXIT THE VEHICLE AND PLACE YOUR HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEAD. I WILL GIVE YOU TEN SECONDS TO COMPLY._”

Jay cursed and frantically tugged at her seat. “Hey! Either of you med-techs have a laser scalpel?”

“I'll look,” one of the medics grunted. She heard him groan and sit up to begin rummaging around the mess in the back of the ambulance.

“Look fast,” Jay gasped. Her seat belt wouldn't come unbuckled, jammed into its housing by the crash. She shouted and tugged on it with all her might. Outside, she heard D'harhan take a lumbering step toward them.

“_TEN... NINE... EIGHT...”_

“I need that kriffing scalpel!” Jay shouted, yanking against her restraints.

“I'm looking!”

“Look _harder!_”

“_SEVEN... SIX... FIVE..._”

Jay held her breath. They couldn't get free in time. There was no way-

She heard someone outside let out a shout and her eyes snapped open. She was just in time to see a multicolored Mandalorian leap up onto the overturned ambulance, race across the surface, and throw himself high into the air. With a loud _snap-hiss_, a glowing blue energy blade sprang to life in his hand, erupting from the hilt of a thin lightsaber pike.

The man soared forward and stabbed the weapon deep into D'harhan's chest, using the alien's thick leather skin as a handhold. He drew his arm back and stabbed again, plunging the weapon to the hilt into D'harhan's chest. The alien recoiled, letting out a dark groan as sparks flew from the wound and his skin sizzled and burned. He threw out a meaty arm, knocking the Mandalorian from his chest. Without biological readings on the hilt, the saber's fail-safe system kicked in, deactivating the blade. The pike clattered loudly to the street.

The Mandalorian clambered to his feet again, pulling two pistols from his belt. He looked over his shoulder and shouted, “Stay down, Jay. Reinforcements will be here in seconds.”

“Vhetin?” she shouted back. “Is that you?”

He fired a salvo at D'harhan before the alien could aim his cannon. “Just stay put! We'll get you out of there!”

Jay continued tugging on her seat belt, then hesitated and thought, _Wait, who's we?_

Seconds later there was a screeching of metal and the passenger side door, facing the sky, was wrenched open. Lesianne's white-haired visage poked through the opening. Her hood was down and she had a quizzical frown on her pale face. She cocked her head to one side and pursed her lips.

“Last I looked,” she said, “D'harhan was our ally. You should choose your friends with more care in the future, Moqena.”

Jay grunted. “Things change. Can you help me out? Denton's out cold, I'm stuck here, and we've got an injured Mando in the back.”

“Gunslinger is doing okay,” one of the med-tech's reported. “We've stabilized him for now. He should be okay for a half hour or so.”

There was a shout and a clang of metal on metal as Vhetin was smashed against the roof of the ambulance, hard enough to leave a man-shaped dent in the metal. He clambered back to his feet and picked up his fallen pistols. “Handmaiden, if you could get them out of there and give me a hand, I'd be most thankful.”

“I will be there momentarily,” the Handmaiden called. Vhetin nodded and threw himself back into the fray, firing a quick shot from his jetpack to carry him back to the fight. He took the high guard, using his rocket pack to outflank D'harhan from the sky and fire down on him at an angle from which the cyborg could not defend himself. Handmaiden quickly turned back to Jay.

“Do not move,” she said, then disappeared.

Jay sighed and hung limp in her seat, thinking, _Don't move. Sometimes I think that woman has a sense of humor after all._

A second later she screamed as a meter-long cylindrical bar pierced the floor of the ambulance, easily slicing through her seat belt buckle and sending her crashing to the ground. She landed in a mess of twisted durasteel and broken glass, but her armor protected her from the worst of the damage. She grunted, holding a hand to her bleeding forehead, and slowly clambered to her feet.

“Are you free?” the Handmaiden called from outside. She had to shout over the sounds of D'harhan and Vhetin battling further down the street. The telltale explosion of D'harhan's blaster cannon threatened to drown out all other sound. Jay hoped her partner was managing to hold his own.

“Are you free?” the Handmaiden repeated forcefully.

“Yeah,” Jay called with a grimace. Her head was pounding from the fall and she had twisted her arm when she landed. “Yeah, I'm okay.”

“Can you free Justicar Dral from his restraints?”

“I'll... I'll see. Give me a second.”

“We may not have that much time.”

“Then help Vhetin,” she called. “Give me that much time.”

“As you wish.”

She heard the Handmaiden's footsteps retreating into the distance. Jay maneuvered herself into a crouch and looked up to Denton hanging above her. She reached up and shook his shoulder. “Denton? You reading me, _cyar'ika_?”

He didn't respond, blood dripping slowly from the cut on his forehead where he'd been smashed against the dashboard. She sighed and set to work freeing him from his seat belt. She reached down and grabbed the vibroblade she kept sheathed down her boot. The press of a button activated the glowing green blade and she reached up to cut him loose. A quick slash cut him free and he crashed down on top of her. She cried out as she was slammed into the floor again.

“Damn it,” she muttered, extracting herself from under his heavy armor. She rolled him over onto his back, patting his chest and whispering, “You'll be safe here. Probably. I'm going to go help Vhetin and Les.”

Looking back, she called to the med-techs working in the back. “You three okay for now?”

One of them nodded, the other hard at work cleansing Gunslinger's wounds. “We'll be fine for now. If reinforcements are incoming, we can hold here until they can get us an evac.”

“All right,” Jay said, then grabbed the passenger-side seat above her and hoisted herself up out of the tipped-over ambulance. Emerging into open air on top of the vehicle, she saw that D'harhan and Vhetin were fighting further down the street. Lesianne was darting in with quick, precise chops to D'harhan's legs, trying to unbalance him. As Jay watched, the bladed grasping appendage at the end of his tail grabbed her face and threw her across the street. She pulled herself into a tight reverse-somersault, recovering quickly and rolling to her feet before darting in again.

Vhetin nodded to the Handmaiden and the two quickly circled D'harhan. Vhetin triggered his jetpack again while the Echani surged forward and slid to her knees. In a single, coordinated move, Vhetin shot forward into a rocket-propelled tackle that took D'harhan around the neck while the Handmaiden kicked at the back of his knees with her boots. The combined assault knocked D'harhan off his feet, sending all three crashing to the ground in an earth-shaking cacophony.

Vhetin planted a knee on D'harhan's chest and plunged his fist into the mess of wires and pipes that made up the cyborg's neck. He let out a grunt before ripping his hand back, tearing free a handful of sparking wires. D'harhan let out a rumbling groan before his tail flashed out and caught Vhetin's leg, hoisting him off his feet. A flick of the appendage sent the bounty hunter flying head-over-heels through the air, crashing hard into a nearby collection of trash bins. He quickly recovered and threw himself back into the fight.

Jay quickly reached back into the ambulance and grabbed her shotgun, as well as Denton's rifle. He wouldn't be needing it in his condition. She ignored her screaming muscles and hopped off the overturned ambulance, heading off at a jog toward the fight unfolding further down the street.

“I don't care what you've been told!” Vhetin was shouting. “You're going after Jay! Not Caranthyr!”

“_YOU ARE INTERFERING WITH MY HUNT_,” D'harhan rumbled, lashing out with a fist the size of Vhetin's torso. “_I WILL NOT ALLOW THAT. STAND DOWN, MANDALORIAN_.”

Lesianne slammed her staff into the back of D'harhan's leg. He staggered forward, falling to one knee. She quickly leaped up onto D'harhan's back, stabbing her pike down into D'harhan's cybernetically-augmented spine. There was a spray of shredded metal and an inhuman roar from the alien beneath her. Then D'harhan straightened and threw her from her perch.

She quickly scrambled back to her feet, grabbing her quarterstaff and extending it with a flick of her wrist. She fell into a predatory crouch, piercing blue eyes narrowed to slits. “You are on the wrong hunt, brute. You should be working with us, not against us.”

“_YOU ARE WORKING FOR CARANTHYR. YOU ARE A THREAT TO THIS INVESTIGATION_.”

“Listen to yourself!” Vhetin shouted, slashing with his pike to ward off another of D'harhan's heavy punches. “I don't know what's gotten into you, but somehow Caranthyr has gotten into your head!You're doing just what he wants!”

“_NEGATIVE. I AM ASSISTING THE FLESHLING MOQENA AND TRACKING CORO CARANTHYR. I RECIEVED INTELLIGENCE THAT HE WAS HIDING AT THE SCENE OF THE ENFORCEMENT OFFICE SHOOTOUT_.”

“_Jay_ was the one at the shootout! They couldn't find Caranthyr!”

“_WHEN I ARRIVED ON SCENE_,” D'harhan continued, knocking Lesianne away with a heavy backhanded blow to the face, “_I FOUND CARANTHYR WORKING WITH THE LOCAL ENFORCEMENT OFFICERS. HE ATTEMPTED TO FLEE. I GAVE CHASE.”_

Jay managed to squeeze of a single round with her shotgun. It hit D'harhan in the neck, sending a shower of durasteel fragments fluttering into the air. He recoiled, letting out a deep buzz, and turned to her.

“_IDENTITY CONFIRMED,_” he thundered. “_CORO CARANTHYR. PLACE YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD_.”

Jay sighed and muttered, “Ah, kriff.”

“Jay, what are you doing?” Vhetin shouted. “He's after you! Get back!”

D'harhan clamped his tail and fired, but the Handmaiden managed to tackle Jay from the side and drive her out of the way. The cannon round exploded against the sidewalk, carving a meter-deep chunk out of the road.

“Go!” Lesianne shouted, shoving her to her feet. “We'll hold him back as best we can!”

Jay didn't need to hear that twice. She scrambled away, taking off down a tight alley nearby. She could hear Vhetin and the Handmaiden shouted behind her, but didn't bother to look back. Another cannon round exploded against the building over her head and she screamed and covered her head.

She took the next alley she could, hoping she could outmaneuver D'harhan in these tight back alleys. She could hear him right behind her, heavy feet pounding against the sidewalk. She ducked through a tight gap in a wooden plan fence, hearing D'harhan simply smash through it seconds later.

“D'harhan, it's me!” she shouted over her shoulder. “It's Jay!”

She tried to swing around to fire at him. But before she could, she felt something hard and metallic slam into her face. She felt the razor blade manipulators of D'harhan's tail wrap around her head as he hoisted her into the air. She grabbed the manipulators and tried to yank them off her face, vainly attempting to pull herself from his grasp. But she wasn't nearly strong enough to pry him away.

He transferred her from his tail to his hand, wrapping his thick fist around her throat and squeezing hard enough to make her choke and gasp. The manipulators on his tail snapped together with a rasping clang, like a kath hound baying for blood while its master prepared a meal.

“_CORO CARANTHYR,_” D'harhan droned, “_YOU ARE A MURDER, A TERRORIST, AND A THREAT TO THOSE AROUND YOU. AS SUCH, I AM PLACING YOU UNDER ARREST AND TURNING YOU IN TO CLAIM THE BOUNTY ON YOUR HEAD.”_

“D, it's me,” she choked. “I'm... I'm a friend.”

He cocked his massive mechanical head, status lights pulsing red. “_YOU ARE CORO CARANTHYR. I AM CHARGED TO BRING YOU TO JUSTICE._”

“Y-you...” she gasped and tried to frantically suck in breath. “You don't... have to do this! You don't...”

His grip tightened on her throat and she gasped for air. The Handmaiden suddenly sprinted around the corner and threw herself at D'harhan. She managed to land a weak shot to a boxy augmentation on his neck, sending shrapnel flying. But the huge alien seemed to already know she was there, and he threw out a fist that caught her straight in the face. The woman was knocked away from the force of the blow, slamming hard into the brick wall on one side of the alley. She crumpled to the ground and fell still.

With the pop and hiss of coolant tubes, D'harhan's cannon swiveled back to face Jay. The newest wound on his neck sparked and the nearest coolant tubes twitched. When he next spoke, his voice stuttered and echoed itself, as if its programming had suddenly become corrupted. _“I-I HAVE NO CH-CHOICE. I..._”

His voice suddenly sputtered and glitched and his status lights flashed rapidly. He let out a deep, synthesized groan and his grip on her neck relaxed. A blasting, monotonous drone erupted from his voice box and he released his grip on her throat. She fell heavily to the ground, falling to her hands and knees. D'harhan, surprisingly, followed her, falling to his knees and clutching at his throat. Sparks erupted from the mess of tangled tubes and armor that anchored his weapon into his chest. Another sputtering blast from his vocoder and he looked up at her.

“_RUN_,” he insisted desperately. _“THAT LAST BLOW WEAKENED HIS HOLD. I AM FIGHTING HIS CONTROL, BUT I CANNOT KEEP HIM OUT MUCH LONGER. ONCE HE REGAINS CONTROL, I WILL NOT BE ABLE TO KEEP HIM FROM MY MIND._”

“D?” Jay gasped. She put a hand on his muscular shoulder. “What's wrong with you? How can I help you?”

“_YOU MAY HELP BY FLEEING THE SCENE. I BELONG TO CARANTHYR NOW. I CANNOT ESCAPE HIM. BUT YOU CAN.”_

“D, we can help you,” Jay insisted. “Let us get you to a medcenter. If you have one of those collars on you, we can try and get it out.”

“_HE IS REGAINING CONTROL_,” D'harhan droned, his huge, taloned hands digging furrows into the duracrete. “_FLEE. NOW. YOU WILL NOT GET A SECOND CHANCE._”

“D'harhan-”

He let out another blast from his vocoder, the closest he could come to a scream. His arms and hands twitched and sparks flew from his cannon. Then, all at once, he went still. He took a few deep breaths, then straightened to his full height. His status lights flashed and he staggered to his feet.

“D'harhan,” Jay said again as he lumbered back out onto the street.

He seemed oblivious to her. He limped out into the street, talking to himself the entire time. She followed closely behind, unsure whether to try and help her friend or run for her life. He shook his heavy cannon-head and rumbled, “_RE-PRIORITIZING TARGETS. ERROR. SHUTTING DOWN PROCESSING CORTEX. JAMMING INTERCEPTOR SIGNAL. CARANTHYR WILL NOT HAVE ME WITHOUT A FIGHT._”

He fell to his knees and slammed a massive fist into a metal manhole cover in the street, denting the metal deeply. With an almighty wrench he tore the plate from the ground, taking a good part of the street with it. Once he had finished, he was standing before a massive aperture that led down to the sewers.

He turned his compound cannon toward Jay, his status lights pulsing green. “_I CANNOT MAKE AMENDS FOR WHAT I HAVE DONE. THIS IS THE BEST I CAN DO_.”

Before Jay could speak, he turned and leaped down into the hole, disappearing into the sewers below.

~~~~~~~~

**Oyu'baat Plaza**

Ixas was waiting for them at the plaza already, an imposing figure standing in the center of the square for all to see. He was wearing burnished scarlet armor with a black shoulder cape, his helmet under one arm. His hands were resting confidently on his hips and his head was cocked to one side. A smile tugged his bearded face as they approached and his cybernetic eye flashed and buzzed as it scanned them.

“Well, well, well,” he said in his calm, softly-accented voice. “Janada Bralor. I imagine it's been a decade since last I saw you.”

“It hasn't been long enough, _osik'kov_,” Janada hissed.

“Now now, there is no need to descend into petty insults.”

“I went to prison because of you,” Janada snapped, taking a step forward. “Not those cushy little cells up in Bone City. _Prison_. Do you have any idea what that's like? Being dropped in to General Population with every sadistic son of a bitch with a score to settle?”

“I'm truly sorry for the way our relationship ended, but business is business. I had to minimize my losses.”

“Kriff your _losses_,” Janada snapped. “And kriff you while you're at it.”

Brianna pushed in on the conversation, putting a calming hand on Janada's shoulder plate. “Look, I get it that you two hate each other. But the fact is, we've got business to settle. Do you have the information we asked for?”

“Aye,” Ixas agreed. “But I'm afraid our business must be terminated.”

Brianna narrowed her eyes while Janada fumed. “Why?”

“Why, because your party failed to abide by the very simple rules I laid down. I told you to come alone, my dear Ms Bralor. And if you cannot abide by the rules I set down, then how can I trust you to keep our deal confidential?”

Janada shook off Brianna's hand and said, “Seriously?”

“I am very serious. I cannot-”

“You thought I wouldn't recognize Torrez back there watching us through the window of the _Oyu'baat_? And Lillith and Daxos pretending to look at that market stall behind you? I was part of the crew, you idiot. I recognize my old co-workers.”

Ixas narrowed his eyes and said nothing. He eventually looked over his shoulder and jerked his head, motioning for his backup to move up. As the three Mandalorians flanked him, he sighed and said, “Very well. You called my bluff. I suppose you have earned the right to this information.”

He held out a hand and Janada's old co-worker Torrez pulled a datachip from his belt and handed it to Ixas. The Mandalorian drug lord sighed, as if unwilling to part with a precious trinket. He held it out to Janada, but when she went to take it from him he suddenly jerked it back.

“Before I give this to you,” he said, “I want to make sure you know what you're getting yourself into. Do you know whose toes you'll be treading on by accessing this information?”

“I'll cross that bridge when I get there,” Janada said with a scowl.

“Not with these people,” Ixas pressed. “I know you think you're something of a hotshot, Bralor, but these people will reduce everything you love to ashes and leave you for last.”

“Thanks, but we can handle ourselves.”

“Janada, you don't understand. You're-”

“_Gun_!” someone suddenly shouted. A second later, bright red blaster bolts cut down the two Mandalorians flanking Ixas. The drug lord threw himself back, grabbing a _beskad _his one remaining companion tossed him. “_Fall back!_”

He pulled his helmet on and hefted his sword. “I should have known not to trust you, Bralor. I hope those you hunt burn your entire Clan to the ground.”

Janada scowled and followed Brianna as the other woman sprinted for cover. They had both forfeited their weapons before entering the plaza. Though they could hold themselves in hand-to-hand combat, fighting unarmed against men with guns and swords was not a bright idea. Brianna covered her head as she ducked behind a market stand filled with fruits. Janada was right on her heels.

“Bloody hell!” Brianna shouted. “Who the hell started shooting?!”

Janada threw herself into cover behind her as blaster shots stitched the ground at her feet. “No idea! But I'm starting to think this whole thing was a kriffing trap!”

Ixas and his remaining bodyguard were falling back toward the _Oyu'baat_, driven away under a hail of blaster fire. Other Mandalorians scattered around the plaza were drawing their own weapons and searching for the source of the commotion. Janada followed the sounds of blaster fire to their source.

“Kriff,” she muttered. “You're not going to be happy, Brianna.”

“What? Why?”

“Your _cyar'ika_ seems to be the one playing the Boba Fett wannabe.”

“_What_?! Oh, you've got to be kriffing me...”

Snake was advancing up the center of the plaza, Brianna's pistols in either hand and firing at Ixas and his bodyguard. He was shrugging off the few stray blasters that managed to clip him. With a dual-shot from his weapons he knocked Ixas' bodyguard to his knees. Another round caught the man in the throat, knocking him down permanently. Ixas stumbled, his last bodyguard gone.

Snake saw the misstep and took advantage of it; a blaster shot to each thigh drove Ixas to his hands and knees. Galaar loomed over him, reloading his pistols as he snarled, “You're finished, kriffer.”

Ixas tried to lash out with his _beskad_, but Snake knocked it away with a swift, precise kick. Janada was close enough to hear him snarl, “You're done, Ixas.”

Ixas let out a weak chuckle, trying vainly to staunch the blood flow in his legs. “I should have known a backstabbing bastard like you would be the end of me.”

“Yeah,” she heard Galaar hiss. “You should have.”

He couldn't be thinking what Janada thought he was. Snake knew how important Ixas and his data was to their investigation. But the firm set of the man's jaw and the tight grip on the pistol gave away his intentions. Janada cursed and threw herself out of cover, shouting, “No! We need him alive!”

Too late; Galaar rested his pistol against Ixas' forehead and pulled the trigger. The drug lord was blasted back off his feet, skidding across the plaza to the indignant shouts and frightened screams of onlookers. He flipped the corpse a rude hand gesture and muttered, “Good riddance, _chakaar_.”

“What the hell?!” Janada shouted, jogging up to the man. She shoved him hard in the back, sending him staggering. “We needed him _alive _you idiot!”

Snake rounded on her. “The man had a _gun_, you stupid woman. What did you want me to do, let you and Brianna get yourselves killed?”

Janada shoved him aside. “Just get out of the way before you screw anything else up.”

She turned Ixas' body onto its back and began rummaging around in his belt-pouches. Her face was pulled down in a dark scowl and she muttered, “Where is it? Where the kriff _is _it?”

Brianna jogged up as well. “What are you looking for?”

“The kriffing _datachip_ this kriffer was going to kriffing trade!” Janada said, not even bothering to censor her language. “Where the kriff is it?!”

Galaar shook his head. “I think your friend has finally lost it, Brianna. I didn't see any datachip.”

“He had it in his goddamned hand!” Janada shouted at him. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Hey,” Snake snapped, “I just saved both your asses!”

“Janada,” Brianna said. She gestured to Ixas' right hand, where a tiny hold-out blaster was tucked into a special compartment on his gauntlet. “Galaar was right. He had a gun.”

“I don't give a shit about the gun!” Janada snarled. “Where's the kriffing _datachip_!”

“Roll him over,” Brianna suggested. “Maybe he fell on it.”

Janada bit her lip, scowling deeper if possible. “He better not have. Those chips are fragile and if-”

As she rolled the Mandalorian over, she indeed saw that the chip had fallen to the ground when he fell. The chip was bent and partially shattered; the weight of his armor had crushed the delicate machinery inside the chip. It was useless now.

“No,” Janada said, grabbing it. “No, maybe the processing matrix is still... maybe...”

She plugged the chip into the port at the back of her helmet, but the chip was destroyed. It wouldn't even show up on her HUD as a viable input device. Yanking it roughly from her helmet, she threw the broken chip with a furious shout. She clenched her hands into fists and spun towards Snake. She rose to her feet, short frame shaking in suppressed rage.

“You did that on purpose,” she snarled at him. “You killed him so Ixas couldn't give us the information.”

“Ridiculous,” Snake scoffed. “What, you think I'm working for Caranthyr now?”

“That data was going to point us right to Caranthyr's employers!”

“Good for you,” Snake shot back. “But I wasn't going to stand by and let that bastard cut you two down. I'd do it again.”

“Jan,” Brianna slowly said, “Ixas did have a gun. I told you he was untrustworthy.”

“Bullshit!” Janada snapped. “He was willing to trade!”

“Maybe,” Brianna said. “Or maybe he just wanted to lure you into a trap. No way to know.”

“Maybe if you'd been able to pull your head out of your ass,” Galaar sneered, “you may have been smart enough to grab the chip before I opened fire and you'd have the data. But that's a Bralor for you, I guess: run first, think later.”

That was the final straw; Janada whirled back to him and let out a howl of rage. She threw herself at him, landing a punch to his unarmored throat. She took him by surprise and he sputtered and clutched at his throat. She followed with an uppercut to the chin before tackling him around the waist and bringing them both to the ground.

“Stop it! Both of you!” Brianna shouted.

Janada didn't listen. She ripped his helmet off and began punching him hard in the face. There was a sickening _crack_ and blood began to pour from his nose. Another punch and his nose folded to one side, the internal cartilage broken. Another punch and blood now coated Janada's balled-up fist.

“I'll kill you!” she shouted as she continued punching him, “Mando or not, I swear I will!”

While he was disoriented, she grabbed her _kad'ikase_ from his belt and crossed them in an X across his neck. A flick of her wrist would be all it would take to cut into flesh and separate his smug head from his body. He narrowed her eyes, tightened her grip on the hilts of her daggers, and-

There was a sharp _clack_ as something metallic hit the back of her helmet. Janada froze, her 360-degree window showing Brianna standing behind her, one of her pistols aimed point-blank at the back of Janada's head.

“Get off of him,” Brianna hissed. “_Now_.”

But Janada wasn't about to give up that easily and Brianna's pistol couldn't hurt her unless it hit her armor's weak points. So Janada turned quickly and slashed with her dagger, knocking the other woman's pistol away. She threw Brianna off-balance, giving Janada time to get to her feet. Brianna quickly regained her balance and snapped her pistol back to aim at Janada's chest.

“He insults me,” Janada growled, rising to her feet as the two women began circling each other, “he insults my _Clan_, and then he goes on to lose our best chance to track down Caranthyr's employers. And now you're going to defend him?!”

“He's my bloody _boyfriend_,” Brianna retorted, her aim steady and unwavering. In the distance they heard the telltale sirens of enforcement office speeders, no doubt responding to calls about the earlier gun battle. “Of course I'm going to defend him!”

“That man,” Janada snapped, gesturing to Galaar's limp form, “is a threat to this investigation and a shame to the Mandalorian name and I-”

“I don't give a damn about the Mandalorian name,” Brianna interrupted. “I'm not going to let you kill him in cold blood. Stand down, _now_.”

Janada held the other woman's gaze for a long time, debating whether to follow her orders or leap forward and attempt to incapacitate her. They both knew this fight wouldn't be fatal, but tempers were flaring and both had a history of overreacting in such situations. A bout between them could be potentially dangerous.

It wasn't easy, but Janada let out an explosive curse and sheathed her daggers. “Fine,” she spat. “Just know that we could have saved lives with that data and your shitstain of a boyfriend destroyed it.”

Brianna sighed in relief and holstered her pistol. “Fine. Just... put some distance between yourself and Galaar. Go buy a drink from Aramis while I get him on his feet.”

“Kriff you,” Janada snapped. “I'm not letting that bastard out of my sight. He should be arrested. Tried for treason, if I was in charge.”

Suddenly, the police speeders arrived. Gold-armored officers jumped out of their vehicles, weapons trained on Janada, Brianna, and the unconscious Snake alike. One of the officers shouted, “Weapons down! Hands on your head now!”

Brianna let out a curse and muttered, “Well, looks like we're all getting arrested. Again.”

She looked over at Janada as the enforcement officers rushed forward to cuff them. “Happy now?”


	13. Plan of Attack

**Keldabe, exact location unknown**

“I'm fine,” Jay snapped, brushing off the med-tech that was trying to patch her up. “Just make sure Gunslinger is all right.”

The site of their previous bout with D'harhan was now crawling with enforcement officers. The gold-armored troopers were recording everything they could about the battle: photographing the wreckage, reconstructing D'harhan's pursuit route, and interviewing those involved. Unfortunately, the officers hadn't been able to hold back the local HoloNet reporters this time and news crews were now swarming around anyone they thought might have witnessed anything.

Jay moved away from the med-tech and made her way toward Vhetin, who was the least injured of all of them. Since he was in the best position to talk, the news reporters were flocking to him. Her beleaguered partner was doing his best to keep them at bay, feeding them only what little information Dala had agreed to part with.

“The enforcement office has agents scattered throughout the city tracking down this drug ring,” he was saying. “We've been on the defensive this entire investigation, but we're finally closing the circle around our suspect.”

“And who exactly is your suspect?” one of the reporters shouted to him from the back of the group.

Vhetin shook his head. “Based on the random nature of the attacks and potential leaks within local Mandalorian forces, we're not giving out any specific details.”

“What about the bombings? They're becoming more and more frequent, wouldn't you say?”

In order to avoid spreading panic, they had decided to hide D'harhan's involvement in the most recent attack. To explain the damage to the city, the enforcement office had claimed that Caranthyr had detonated another series of bombs in an attempt to further upset the local populace.

The witnesses who had seen D'harhan first-hand had been told to remain quiet about their experiences under threat of prosecution. The last thing their investigation needed was a panic, and Keldabe at large didn't need to know that even the investigating freelancers on the case could be corrupted by the terrorist ring and their sinister technology.

“The bombings are becoming more frequent,” Vhetin agreed. “Tobbi Dala and the enforcement office are advising everyone to stay in their homes and avoid traveling alone through the city. Though we're closing in on the culprit, we're still unable to predict his attacks. So just use your common sense and don't do anything stupid.”

“What about your team of freelancers? Isn't it odd that the enforcement office is turning to bounty hunters for help? Do you think they're understaffed or incompetent?”

Vhetin's body language suggested extreme irritation. “My companions and I aren't working this case for any kind of personal profit. We're here because Mandalorians are dying. And the enforcement office isn't incompetent. Tracking down people in hiding is a specialty of us bounty hunters. It's not incompetence, but pragmatism.”

“And what about-”

But Vhetin shook his head and stepped away from the group. “I'm sorry, but I can't say more. All you need to know is that we're on top of the situation and we're closing in on our culprit. If you have any other questions, I suggest you talk to Tobbi Dala or _Mand'alor_ Shysa.”

The reporters reluctantly broke up, wandering around the find other people to interview. Vhetin sighed as he approached Jay, rubbing the back of his neck wearily. Jay grasped his forearm in a traditional Mandalorian handshake, a sign of thanks.

“I appreciate you pulling me out of there, Cin,” she said, squeezing his new armored gauntlet. “We wouldn't have made it out of there.”

“Did you really think I'd leave you to fend for yourself?” he said. “How're you guys holding up?”

“Gunslinger and Denton are on their way to the medcenter,” Jay said. “The medics are optimistic. They'll be fine, granted no one attacks them again.”

“Voice down,” Vhetin said, glancing over his shoulder self-consciously. “We don't want these reporters catching anything. And we definitely don't want Caranthyr to know just how close we're getting to him.”

“Right. What about the Handmaiden? How is she?”

“Angry that D'harhan managed to get the better of her,” Vhetin said, sounding satisfied that the Echani had been knocked down a peg. “But she's determined to do better next time.”

“Hopefully there isn't a next time,” Jay murmured. “He seemed to be regaining control of himself when I last saw him.”

“I wouldn't get your hopes up,” Vhetin said. “Caranthyr had a pretty strong hold over him. It looked like he used D'harhan's cybernetics to jack right into his brain augments. That's a little more powerful than those shock collars he was using before.”

“Obviously,” came the Handmaiden's quiet voice, “our prey is improving and perfecting his techniques. He has now shifted to surgical means of indoctrination. His victims are now under his complete control.”

The Echani had a vivid black eye and bruised cheek from where she had been knocked against the wall earlier. Her pristine white clothing was torn and dirty, but she seemed fine otherwise. Her blue eyes flashed with fury and she refused to allow her quarterstaff to leave her grasp.

“Any word from Janada?” Jay asked.

Vhetin shook his head. “Before Brianna left us, she said Janada was tracking down a lead, but she wouldn't say anything beyond that.”

He turned to Jay and said, “And what about that intel she had passed on? You called me about it before the raid on the drug hub.”

“Right,” Jay said. She glanced around, then gestured for Vhetin and Les to follow her away from the main investigation area. “Follow me. We _definitely _don't want the reporters getting wind of this.”

Jay led the two hunters around the corner, safely out of earshot of any nearby investigators or HoloNet anchors. Once she had double-checked that the coast was clear, she turned to them and said, “Okay. Before I tell you this, you have to promise me that you won't let anyone know without clearing it with me. You can't even tell Dala.”

Les frowned curiously, but nodded her hooded head. “I swear.”

Vhetin cocked his head. “If it's something that pertains to this investigation, I can't make a promise like that.”

“It doesn't have to do with the investigation,” Jay said. “Well, not really. Janada thought she had some insight into Caranthyr's past and who might be pulling his strings.”

“Caranthyr referred to his employer as a _she_,” Vhetin said, referring to his earlier one-on-one duel with the changeling. “He said that no matter what intel we had, we wouldn't be able to get to her.”

“I don't know about any single employer,” Jay said, “but Janada said that the second-gen collar that Caranthyr used on our original suspects was manufactured on an asteroid colony in the Outer Rim worlds. It was apparently a pirate stronghold that used slave labor to produce the Red Spice that Callie was distributing.”

“A drug lab?” Vhetin said. “At least we know where this stuff is coming from.”

“But that wasn't all,” Jay said. “Janada told me that these pirates were under the supervision of Mandalorian overseers. I was confused by that, because I didn't think Mandos put much stock in drugs.”

“We don't,” Vhetin confirmed. “The worst we usually get caught with are performance-enhancing stims. Not hallucinogens or addictive substances.”

“Yeah,” Jay said, “but Red Spice isn't your typical Strength Stim. And Janada said these overseers didn't act like Mandalorians. She said they all used identical armor colors of orange and yellow.”

“Orange and yellow...” Vhetin murmured. “Lust for life and vengeance...”

“What?” the Handmaiden said, frowning at him.

“Many Mandalorians choose their armor color for symbolic reasons,” Vhetin quickly explained. “Red to honor a father, black to symbolize justice, green to symbolize duty, and so on. Orange and yellow stand for love of life and vengeance.”

“So your armor,” the Handmaiden said, “your old armor that is, symbolizes justice?”

“Yes. I chose the black to symbolize my commitment as a bounty hunter to a higher form of justice. The gray I chose to honor... well, someone I lost a long time ago.”

Jay frowned at her partner. He had never told her the reasons behind his armor's color scheme in such detail before. The black coloring made sense. Vhetin was very concerned – some would even say obsessed – with serving his definition of justice, whatever it was that created the most good for the most people possible. But he'd never been so forthcoming about the gray coloration. In fact, the few times they had spoken about it he had claimed the gray had been added just because it fit well with the black.

The Handmaiden, meanwhile, narrowed her eyes in curiosity. “Among the Echani, only two colors hold meaning. White is the symbol of the Echani people, in honor of the snows of our mountaintop villages and our icy homeworld. It symbolizes strength, wisdom, and honor, as well as a dedication to tradition. Our only other color, black, is the symbol of Fallen Echani, those who have given up our ways and descended into dishonor.”

Vhetin stared at her for a few moments, seeming to pay particular attention to her own kit, which was a mix of white cloth and boiled black leather. “So what does that make you?”

The Handmaiden shifted her balance uncomfortably, as if she suddenly regretted revealing so much about herself and her people. “A mix of both, I think.”

He turned back to Jay. “Well, all that aside, it's odd that this group would choose to wear the same colors. Usually only government groups or Clans choose unified colors.”

“If what Janada said is true, then that wouldn't surprise me at all.”

“Why?” Vhetin said. He was beginning to sound alarmed now. “What did she say?”

She let out a sigh and braced herself for the inevitable backlash. “She believed that the overseers, and therefore Caranthyr, are members of the Death Watch.”

Her revelation was met with complete silence. The Handmaiden, of course, didn't know the gravity of what she had just said. Vhetin, meanwhile, was simply staring at Jay in what was obviously open shock. He eventually shook his helmeted head and said, “No. No, that's not possible. They've been gone for twenty years.”

“I'm just telling you what Janada told me,” Jay said. She didn't want to start a panic. She knew how upsetting the mention of the Death Watch was to Mandalorians. “And _she_ heard it from some pretty shady characters. I don't know whether to believe it or not.”

“I do not understand,” the Handmaiden said. “What are these Death Watch?”

“The Death Watch is an organization,” Vhetin quickly explained, “obsessed with Mandalorian superiority over all other species. They want to reignite the ancient Mandalorian Wars in order to conquer the galaxy.”

“Ambitious of them,” the Handmaiden said. “And they may be responsible here? What is their history?”

“During the heyday of one of our greatest leaders, Jaster Mereel,” Vhetin explained, “the powerful Clan Vizsla split from the traditional Mandalorian Clans with an agenda of universal Mandalorian superiority. He went to war with the rest of the Mandalorians and almost won. But their Clan Elder, Tor Vizsla, was eventually killed and their Clan was scattered.

“Then,” he continued, “during the Clone Wars, the Clan was reformed under the leadership of Tor's son, Pre Vizsla. Pre was more obsessed with dominating the pacifist splinter group called the New Mandalorians that live in the desert.”

“Pacifist Mandalorians?” the Handmaiden scoffed. “How ridiculous.”

“Like I said,” Vhetin said with a shrug, “they're a splinter group. Not indicative of us Mandos as a whole. And Pre Vizsla hated them with a passion that rivaled that of his father. He engaged in a guerrilla war against the New Mandalorians and their Jedi allies. It didn't work out well for him.”

He continued, “After Pre Vizsla was killed trying to take the New Mandalorian capital city, the Vizsla clan scattered again and never returned to Mandalore. We all thought they were gone.”

“It wouldn't surprise me if they aren't,” Jay said. “What's that Mando term you guys use? _Ba'slan shev'la_?”

“Strategic disappearance,” Vhetin translated. “I guess that makes sense.”

He stared at the ground, hands on his hips. “If what you say is true, we have to warn Shysa.”

“And let them know we're on to them?” Jay scoffed. “From all I've heard, these guys are ruthless and don't give a damn about collateral damage. And if they're still operational, that means they've gotten used to working underground for the past twenty years. It's no small wonder Caranthyr has managed to stay under our radar.”

Vhetin rested his hands on his hips. “This goes beyond Caranthyr, Jay. The Death Watch is more than our own particular terrorist sect. It's the pinnacle of _anti_-Mandalorian. Everything the True Mandalorians stand for, the Death Watch want to tear down. They'll burn Keldabe to the ground if they have to.”

“But they're not,” Jay pressed. “Not yet. For now, the only person who seems to be acting out is Caranthyr. For all we know, he's not even with them any more. So why don't we just focus on the target we have in our sights before going after the organization at large?”

Vhetin sighed, obviously still not convinced. “What did Janada say?”

“She was very militant,” Jay admitted. “She wanted to advise Shysa to lock down Keldabe until we burn Caranthyr and his accomplices out of hiding.”

“Not surprising. She hates the Death Watch more than anyone else I've ever met. I'm surprised she hasn't decided to go door-to-door on her own already.”

“As much as I hate to,” the Handmaiden murmured, “I must agree with the Mandalorian. If a single of these Death Watch members is so dangerous, an entire gathering will surely be a tremendous threat.”

“And what are we going to do? Go after them ourselves? Or force Shysa to put the city under martial law? We don't even know if the bulk of their forces are on the planet!”

Vhetin sighed and said, “I'm just not sure you appreciate the gravity of what's going on. But I also think you have a point. Our intel is sketchy at best and we have enough on our plate as it is.”

“So you're agreeing with me?”

“For the time being,” he said. “But I want you to seriously consider informing Shysa. This is potentially life-saving information. Don't keep it to yourself.”

“I'll think about it,” Jay agreed.. “But for now, we'll keep this to ourselves?”

The Handmaiden sighed and nodded. Vhetin followed suit moments later, a little more reluctantly. He folded his arms and said, “So what do we do?”

“Dala is preparing an offensive,” Jay said. “He's gathering everyone at the enforcement office to regroup before striking out. We should talk to him before that happens so we can get an idea of what the hell is going on.”

“Offensive?” Vhetin said. “What's Dala planning?”

“What do you think?” Jay said, leading them back to the street. “He's going to war.”

~~~~~~~~

They found Dala at the perimeter of the pit D'harhan had carved out of the street. He was speaking with a cluster of officers and research crew, as well as an exhausted-looking Trainee Ruusan. It seemed that Dala had taken a liking to the girl; he had ordered her to work for him as a temporary assistant to help him get ahead of the mountain of work that was piling up due to this case.

“Get everyone back to the office for now,” he was growling, watching a nearby group of HoloNet reporters slink by. “Make sure no one talks to the press. Last thing we need is some jumped-up hotshot spilling his guts to the cams and wrecking our plans.”

“What about Shysa, sir? We learned Caranthyr is after him in particular. Is he adequately protected?”

“_Mand'alor_ Shysa can protect himself,” Dala said. “But there's a detachment of Supercommandos guarding him as we speak. He has a public appearance at MandalMotors tower later today, a press conference to inform the public of Caranthyr and his schemes. But he'll have our best watching his back. Don't worry.”

“Aye, sir,” the gold-armored officers said. They saluted quickly, then set off to disperse the orders they had been given.

Dala rubbed his eyes with a low sigh, the first signs of weariness Jay had seen from the man. He turned to them as they approached, quickly shaking off any signs of exhaustion and fixing them with his typical grim frown.

“I saw the live 'Net reports,” he said. “You did a good job handling those razorsharks we call reporters, Vhetin. Good work.”

Vhetin inclined his head. “I live to serve.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I'm sure you heard the plan for now. We're falling back to the enforcement office for a temporary regroup. I got word that Officer Dral is recovering nicely and that he'll meet us there.”

“That's good,” Jay said. She was relieved Denton was okay. She wasn't as relieved that he was returning to active duty so soon after being injured, but she put that out of mind for the moment. “But can we ask you some questions, Dala? We just want to get some more facts from you personally.”

“And why can't you wait like the others?”

“Come on, Dala,” Vhetin said. “We're the leading investigators on this case. We've seen this fiasco since the start.”

“And D'harhan is my friend,” Jay said. “Caranthyr somehow hacked his mind and made him a slave. I want to do whatever I can to get him back.”

“You owe us an explanation,” Vhetin said.

Dala narrowed his eyes at them, then shook his head in exasperation. “Aye, I guess you do have a point there. Trainee? You want to tackle this?”

“With pleasure, sir,” Ruusan said. She turned to their group and said, “We're pulling back all active officers to join a strike force on Caranthyr's base. We're going to hit him where he lives and force him out of hiding.”

She pulled out a holoprojector and activated the holographic readout of what looked like a mobile tank cannon that was attached to several heavy repulsorlift generators. “This is our gambit: a MandalMotors special we ordered a few months ago. Your sister spearheaded the project, Vhetin.”

“What is it?”

“Just what it looks like,” Ruusan said. “It's a _Canderous-_class tank cannon attached to mobility-enhancing repulsors. It takes two men just to move the thing, has to be loaded manually by a third officer, and has a cooldown period that we can't work around for now, but it packs one hell of a punch. You can imagine the damage a tank could do in such close quarters.”

“This is some of the heaviest ordnance we have available,” Dala said. “We're pulling out all the stops to bring this psychopath to justice.”

“What about D'harhan? If we could release Caranthyr's control over him, he could prove useful as well.”

“He's one of the main reasons we're taking the cannon,” Dala said. “I lost a lot of good men to that alien bastard. If the opportunity presents itself, I'm taking him out. Our blasters didn't do anything but piss him off. This will do a whole lot more.”

Jay couldn't say she was pleased with that answer, but she could understand where Dala was coming from. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, D'harhan was no longer himself. He'd killed Gundark, nearly killed Gunslinger, and had even tried to kill _her_. If they couldn't get Caranthyr out of his head, they'd have no choice but to kill him.

The Handmaiden, however, was not so easily convinced. “If we run across that brute, I doubt even your fancy weapon will stop him.”

“In case you hadn't noticed,” Dala said, “this _fancy weapon _is quite a bit bigger than the ones we were using before.”

“And you believe size alone will subdue the alien brute?” She rolled her eyes. “_Mandalorians_. If one gun does not work, use a larger one.”

Dala folded his arms and fixed the woman with a haughty, expectant look. “And what would you recommend, wise Echani?”

The Handmaiden disregarded his condescending tone. “Quick, precise strikes. The Mandalorian accompanying me managed to partially damage the device Caranthyr was using to control D'harhan. Give me leave to engage him and I will defeat him.”

Dala scoffed and gestured to her bruised face and tattered clothing. “Right. Because you did so well last time you went toe-to-toe.”

The Echani clenched a fist, but Jay quickly intervened before the situation could get out of hand. She raised her hands and said, “Okay, how about we tone back the rivalry a bit. All this is just conjecture anyway.”

She turned to Dala and said, “You said we're preparing for an attack on Caranthyr's base. How do we even know where it is? I thought that was what we were looking for in the first place.”

Dala sniffed, glaring at Handmaiden one more time before turning back to the hole in the ground left by D'harhan's departure. He gestured down into the darkness and said, “You're looking at the one good thing your buddy D'harhan did for us, right here.”

He glanced at them and said, “That's our way in. Caranthyr's in the sewers.”

Vhetin cocked his head. “How do you know?”

“Some of our investigators started wondering why D'harhan would take off into the sewer system,” Dala explained. “I mean, he can run as fast as any speeder, so why wouldn't he just take off into the city? So they dug into the office reports of activity down there.”

“You monitor sewer activity?” Jay said with a frown.

“Keldabe's got a high poverty rate, in case you hadn't noticed,” Dala growled. “We've got more homeless than we can regulate. A lot of homeless means a lot of crime, and the sewers are a hotbed for illegal activity. So we send patrols down there at least once a week to make sure the hobos are minding their manners.”

“What did these patrols find?” Vhetin said, looking as if he was hanging on Dala's every word.

“Criminal activity has been steadily increasing throughout the sewers in the past months,” Dala explained. “Drug-related crimes in particular. That sounds like Caranthyr as we know him so far. The investigators went on to pull up maintenance thermal scans of the entire sewer system and found an anomalous spike in thermal activity in an open junction near the center of the city. We think that's where his base is.”

“Seems a little... too easy, doesn't it?” Jay asked. “Don't you think he would camouflage his operations a little better? He may be a psychopath, but he's not sloppy.”

“It's not exactly sloppy,” Dala said. “We just didn't know where to look before, or how to look for it. We expect criminals to operate out of places like the herb shop; dirty, but with good access to Keldabe at large. But they know we don't work through the sewers as much as we'd like and that the chances of a surprise raid are slim to none. With the local homeless population camouflaging their movements, they'd be damn near invisible to our forces.”

Vhetin seemed to ponder over this for a moment, then glanced up at Dala and said, “Caranthyr's under the center of the city? That would be right under the MandalMotors complex.”

“Aye.”

“And didn't you just say Shysa was going to have a press conference there today?”

Dala nodded. “You've finally caught on, eh? Now you see why we're moving as quickly as possible.”

“So what are your orders?”

He gestured to Vhetin. “I want you to get to the enforcement office. Your sister and her companions got into a spot of trouble during their own investigation and we're going to need them in the free and clear when we go after Caranthyr.”

“Trouble?” Vhetin echoed. “What kind of trouble?”

“Ask 'em yourself,” Dala said dismissively. “Just get back to the office so you have time to be briefed. Officer Dral will meet you there.”

He pointed down the street. “Speeder's waitin' for you. Get going.”

Vhetin nodded. “On my way. Jay, I'll catch up with you later.”

“Be safe,” she told him. She was disappointed to see her partner go so soon after they had reunited again, but they needed more intel on their current situation. “Tell Denton I'm glad he's okay.”

“Sure thing,” he said, turning toward the nearby police-issue speeder bike. “Don't have too much fun without me.”

He swung his leg over the bike, gunned the engine, and shot off down the street, kicking up a cloud of dust and old flimsiplast as he went. After a few moments he had turned a distant corner and disappeared from view. Once he was gone, Jay turned back to Dala and said, “So what about us? I assume you don't want us to go to the enforcement office?”

“No,” Dala said. “You two are coming with me. We're going to warn Shysa what's about to come down on his head. A pair of pretty faces like yours might just be enough to finally convince that towheaded fool that he's in real danger.”

~~~~~~~~

**Keldabe Law Enforcement Office, Interrogation Cells**

Vhetin sighed in partial amusement and partial exasperation as he pulled open the doors to the interrogation cells. It was only hours before that he had been locked in this same room, under arrest for “killing” an enforcement office that was actually Caranthyr in disguise. Now his sister, his ex-girlfriend, and her new _cyar'ika_ were the ones handcuffed to the table inside.

“I'm starting to notice a trend here,” he said as he sat in the uncomfortable metal chair across from them. “First Handmaiden, then me _and_ Handmaiden, now you three? Either the enforcement office is getting better at their job, or we're all getting sloppy.”

“Ha ha,” Brianna said, tugging at her restraints. “Gloat all you want, Cin. But there are more important things to focus on.”

“Yeah,” Janada snapped, “like how your _di'kut _of a boyfriend smashed my datachip. I paid good money for that piece of shit.”

“And Ixas Talashi's fat ass smashed it,” Snake shot back. “Sue me.”

“How 'bout I shoot you instead?”

“Enough!” Brianna snapped. “Both of you!”

The two fell reluctantly silent and Brianna let out a long breath. She looked wearily back to Vhetin and said, “As you can see, it's been a complete ball trying to wrangle the children. Can I leave now?”

“All three of you can,” Vhetin said, “but I'm sorry to say that the party is far from over.”

“What do you mean?”

“The enforcement office is going after Caranthyr. Dala thinks he's found the changeling's base of operations and is assembling a strike force to bring him down. If Dala is to be believed, we'll need everyone we can get for this to work and that means all hands on deck.”

“Good,” Snake said, fidgeting in his seat. “My trigger finger's getting itchy.”

“Not you.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You heard,” Vhetin said. “Dala specifically said he wanted Brianna and Janada. He didn't say a thing about you.”

“But I'm just as good a fighter as either of these two!”

Vhetin inclined his head. “Doesn't matter. You've got next to no experience with anything our investigation is doing. You shouldn't have even been involved with Janada's work, but you muscled in on her operation and, if what she says is true, karked it up royally. That's not the kind of man Dala will want safeguarding the _Mand'alor_.”

He let a smile cross his lips despite himself. “And I'm not sure our team could accommodate a _civilian_ in our investigation. That just gets messy.”

“So what, you're just gonna leave me here?”

“No,” Vhetin said. As much as he liked the sound of that, those weren't his orders. “You're free to go. But if you interfere with this operation, I've been granted the authority to place you under arrest for real.”

Snake fumed for a few moments, then spat out a curse and said, “Fine. Just cut me loose so I can get out of this dump.”

He bowed his helmeted head. “As you wish.”

Janada chuckled as Vhetin moved around the table to uncuff her. She leaned close to his helmet and murmured, “You don't really have that authority, do you?”

He snorted. “Of course not. But it's satisfying to see Snake so helpless.”

“You're an evil, evil man.”

“You taught me everything I know,” Vhetin said as he helped her up from the chair. “What does that make you?”

Brianna was not so cheerful as Vhetin freed her from her restraints. She scowled at him and said, “Do you really have to be like that?”

“Like what?” Vhetin said as he powered down her electro-shock binders.

“Running him down all the time,” Brianna hissed, “being so aggressive with him.”

“I think you know why,” Vhetin murmured, clenching his teeth. “It's not exactly a secret.”

“It's only going to make him hate you more.”

Vhetin let out a short laugh. “That's the idea. It was never in the cards for us to get along. You seriously thought we'd just end up best buddies just because you're in the middle?”

He tucked the binders into his belt and ceased whispering. “The briefing starts in five. I recommend you get there or risk missing out on any intel I may have forgotten.”

He gestured to Snake with an air of distaste. “You can uncuff him if you want. But my warning still stands; I catch sight of him anywhere near this operation, he'll be back up in here before he can blink.”

“Duly noted,” Snake grumbled. “I'll just go home and watch it all fall to pieces on the HoloNet.”

“You do that,” Vhetin shot back as he turned away. “Janada? If you have time, I need to talk to you.”

“Aye,” his sister said. “After you.”

They left Brianna to uncuff her boyfriend, heading away into the hallway outside. As soon as the door slammed shut behind them, Janada burst out laughing. “Fierfek, Cin! Did you see the look on that _shabuir_'s face? Ah, that was the funniest thing I've seen all day!”

She put her hands on her hips, puffed out her chest, and mimicked Vhetin's quiet hiss of a voice. “_If I catch sight of you anywhere near this operation, you'll be back up in here before you can blink_.”

She burst out laughing again, slapping her thigh plate in glee. Vhetin cracked a bit of a smile and said, “I'm glad you found that entertaining, but I do have some important business to discuss with you.”

Her face instantly fell. She hesitated, then said, “I'm assuming Jay relayed the intel I was given?”

“She did,” Vhetin said as they headed toward the main briefing room. “And it has me worried.”

“I didn't exactly get the intel from reliable sources,” Janada pointed out. “But I agree with you. If Caranthyr is even pretending to be Death Watch, it'll be the first real _Kyrt'sad _operation on Mandalorian soil in decades.”

“That's one of the reasons I want you with us,” Vhetin said. “You have more experience with Death Watch troopers than most. But there's a catch.”

“Don't say it, Cin. Don't you dare-”

“We need Caranthyr and his men _alive_. If they are Death Watch, they need to be interrogated.”

“How can you _say_ that?” She scowled at him.

“I know how it sounds,” Vhetin said. “But this goes beyond you and your history with the _Kyr'tsad_. If Caranthyr is really Death Watch, we need to make him give up his associates so we can root this out at its source.”

“Sorry, bro,” Janada said. “But whether its for the better good or not, I'm not gonna let Caranthyr walk away from this.”

“Hey,” he said, grabbing her arm. “I know how much this matters to you, _vod_. But if you're going to get trigger-happy on us, I can't let you be part of the strike team. We _need_ _Caranthyr alive_.”

“Cin, I've been waiting my _whole life_ to get back at the _Kyr'tsad_. Now I have a chance and you're saying I should back down?”

She yanked her arm from his grasp. “You never had parents, Cin. But _I did_. I _remember_ them, like it was only yesterday.”

She took a deep breath. “I was twelve years old, Cin. Twelve _kriffing_ years old when I found out my entire Clan had been murdered. My sister? She was still a fierfeking _baby_. Because of the Death Watch, I had to care for her on my own, on a world an entire sector away from the nearest Mandalorian.”

She gestured to the longdaggers sheathed on her back. “I made a promise the day my parents died that I would soak these blades with the blood of the men and women who killed them. I keep my promises, Cin.”

She stepped back. “I figured you of all people would understand that.”

He sighed, unwilling to continue fighting; she had a point. He'd never known his parents, didn't even know if they were alive or not. But Janada had been part of a family long before she had arrived on Mandalore. Clan Umaan had been feared, respected, and loved in Keldabe and across Mandalore. And because of Death Watch supremacists, the entire group had been slaughtered. Janada's family, her birth family, had been betrayed by their own. He couldn't begin to understand what that felt like that.

He eventually nodded, albiet very reluctantly. “All right. Truth is, if Caranthyr was gunned down, I wouldn't be disappointed in the least. So if it comes to it, I won't stand in the way of your _gra'tua_. You've earned it.”

She nodded.“Thanks. I knew you'd see it my way.”

He moved to leave, but she called him back. “Cin... there was something else. You know what happened with Snake at the meeting with Ixas?”

“He jumped the gun, from what I heard. Charged ahead guns blazing and got your data destroyed in the process.”

“That's the gist of it,” Janada said. “But... fierfek, I don't know if I should be saying this.”

“What?”

Janada scowled and said, “I think Snake attacked on purpose. There was information on that datachip, information that potentially linked Caranthyr to the Death Watch. And Snake seemed a little too eager to see it destroyed.”

“You think he sabotaged the deal? Got it destroyed on purpose?”

“Yeah, that's exactly what I think,” Janada said. “But – and this is a big step for me – I admit that I tend to blow things out of proportion. It may have just been that he didn't want me getting my hands on that data because he doesn't like me and he wanted to see me knocked down a peg. But either way, Snake is dangerous. He's got an ego the size of a rancor's backside and he'll do whatever, and hurt whoever, he has to to get what he wants.”

Vhetin jumped to the most obvious conclusion. “You're saying Brianna may be in danger?”

“I'm saying I don't trust Snake. And I don't trust him with her. You shouldn't either.”

Vhetin fell silent, pondering over this. “Do you think Brianna knows?”

“For all her faults, that girl doesn't put up with bullshit,” Janada said. “I think she genuinely sees something in him. But that's not going to help her if he decides she's in his way.”

She glanced over her shoulder as Brianna and Snake finally emerged from the interrogation cell. She quickly turned back to Vhetin and said, “Just keep an eye on the people who mean the most to you, okay? Myself included.”

He cracked a bit of a smile. “Right. I'll do my best.”

She nodded and clapped his shoulder reassuringly, just like she'd done when he was just a kid. “All right. I'll see you at the briefing, little bro.”

Before she could get too far away, he called after her. “Janada? Thank you.”

She nodded seriously to him. “_Aliit ori'shya tal'din_, Stripes. You may not be blood, but you're still family.”

~~~~~~~~

**Briefing Room**

“Vhetin! Good to see you again.”

Vhetin nodded as Denton waved him down. The officer had a thick, bloodstained bandage wrapped around his head, covering his right eye. Otherwise, he looked fine considering the severity of the wreck he'd endured. He held out a hand and clasped arms with Denton. “You look like you've seen better days.”

“What, this? A day in the life, _vod_. I'm sure you can relate.”

Vhetin thought about the long, ropy scars that covered his chest and back, remnants of the starship crash that had robbed him of his memory all those years ago. He nodded and said, “Yeah. I can relate. Jay sends her regards, by the way.”

“I'm sure she was pretty worried.” Denton said as they moved toward the briefing room. There was a mass of other gold-armored enforcement officers flocking in the same direction, heading for the pre-operation briefing. Denton greeted a few by name as they went with a wide grin.

“So...” Vhetin said as they walked. He was uncomfortable with this exchange, as this was the first time he'd spoken with Denton one-on-one and he didn't often converse with enforcement officers unless he was in trouble for something.

“So...” the officer replied. If Vhetin didn't know better, he'd say the other man was just as uncomfortable. “How does it feel being back?”

“It's been less than a week and I've been dropped into a game of cat-and-mouse with a psychopath,” Vhetin replied. “Meanwhile, I'm still sick and vomiting biological weapons on an almost hourly basis. I'm having the time of my life.”

Denton chuckled. “Life does tend to have a habit of dropping it all into the fan at once. Just imagine all the free publicity once this is all over. Not to mention the freelancer's fee.”

“I'm not doing this for the money,” Vhetin pointed out. “These Mandalorians being killed are my brothers too. It's my duty to serve.”

“_Oya_,” Denton said and let the matter rest.

They walked in silence for some time, their progress slowed considerably by the number of other officers waiting for entry into the briefing room. Vhetin cleared his throat and said, “So... you and Jay, huh?”

“Yep. I'd imagine that was one of the more surprising changes for you.”

“I guess. It was just... unexpected is all.”

Denton nodded. “Jay never really had time to bring it up. With everything you two were caught up in, plus that whole deal with the Tracker...”

“It just wasn't the time,” Vhetin agreed. “At the very least, I'm glad she's happy. I assume you know about Sade.”

Denton nodded. “She gave me the rundown. Poor _cyar'ika_. It made me wonder at first if she was really ready for a relationship again.”

“I wouldn't be able to answer that,” Vhetin said. “My own talent for relationships is... well, sketchy at best. Besides, she knows herself better than either of us.”

Denton nodded. “Do me a favor? I've seen more than enough bounty hunters dead during crime scene investigations. I don't want her to be one of them. Keep her safe out there.”

He inclined his head. “I always do.”

The line finally reached through the door leading into the ampitheater that served as the briefing room. It didn't take long for the two to find a place to sit; Janada had arrived early and saved them seats. She greeted Vhetin with a nod and Denton with a noncomittal sniff.

“Nice to see you too, Miss Bralor,” Denton said as he sat down.

“No offense,” Janada grumbled, “but I don't like cops, Mandalorian or otherwise.”

“Then I guess I should be even more thankful that you're helping our investigation.”

“I'm sure my brother's told you that he's doing this for the good of _Manda'yaim_, but my intentions aren't so noble,” Janada said. “It may be my duty as a Mandalorian to help, but duty will only get you so far. My family needs the money.”

“The enforcement office won't renig,” Denton said. “You'll get your pay.”

Janada snorted and propped her feet up on the empty seat in front of her. “I'll believe that when I see it.”

“Mind if I intrude?” Brianna was making her way down their row as well. Vhetin gestured to the empty seat next to him and the huntress eased herself into the seat with a groan. “After so much time handcuffed to that bloody seat, the last thing I want to do is sit around longer. I want to get out and fight.”

“I think you'll get the chance sooner than you think,” Vhetin said, nodding to the gold-armored sergeant making his way into the briefing room.

The sergeant stopped in the center of the ampitheater, cleared his throat loudly, and called, “All right everyone, all right. Settle down and pay attention.”

Those who had been talking among themselves slowly ceased their conversations and turned their attention to the sergeant. The man was clad in gold armor like the others, but with the stylized _Kalo_ eyes emblazoned across the helmet. _Kalo_ eyes were a less impressive variation of the much more prestigious _Jaig _eyes award, and were modeled after the piercing gaze of the native Kalo Wolves that lived in the mountains. _Kalo_ eyes were awarded for acts of valor in the line of duty where the receiving Mandalorian had been severely injured serving their people. The sergeant certainly lived up to the award; he had lost his right arm at the shoulder and the right half of his face was a mess of low-grade cybernetics.

The sergeant rested his hands on his armored hips and said, “Glad you all could join us this afternoon, people. We're going to need all the help we can get for this assignment.”

Vhetin leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees and paying close attention. Janada, on one side of him, leaned back in her seat and folded her arms across her chest. Brianna, on his other side, was mimicking his stance, leaning forward and paying close attention to the speaker.

The briefing room was a standard Mandalorian ampitheater, not unlike that aboard the Supercommando transport, the _Hodayc_. A large round room with terraced seats surrounding a flat, central stage, the briefing room was built specifically to facilitate the transfer of information from a small group to a much larger gathering. It was simple and effective; all a Mandalorian could ask for.

The sergeant activated a holographic map of the sewers they would be attacking. It shimmered to life in the center of the room, rotating so everyone present could see it clearly. He pointed with his mechanical arm to a pulsing red dot in one of the sewer tunnels. “This,” he said, “is base camp. We have officers there setting up shop as we speak. When you enter the sewers, we'll have recon teams guiding you to base so you don't get lost and accidentally give up our position.”

He narrowed his eyes. “We don't know just how fortified Caranthyr's position really is. So once you enter the sewers, stay on the encrypted helmet-to-helmet TeamCOM channels that we've set up, and stay as quiet as possible. Kane, that means you don't get to trip over your own feet and send your gear crashing around like last time.”

The Mando in question sighed and rolled his eyes while the officers around him laughed. The sergeant cracked a smile and said, “I don't think that'll be a problem this time. We're going to take these guys fast and quiet.”

He pulled up a tactical map of the sewers, similar to the first. This time, however, the map was marked with symbols for weapon emplacements, barricades, and command outposts. There were arrows standing for advance zones, shields for defensive positions, and crosshairs marking high-value targets.

“We've sent probes and scouts throughout the sewers and we've managed to stealthily map out our battlefield. Once you're on site, you will be given your primary assignments. The scouts there now will serve as the advance teams, softening the enemy for you to advance.”

“The enemy?” Brianna murmured. “These are Mandalorians we're talking about.”

“I'm sure they have a plan to keep casualties low,” Vhetin whispered back. “They'll probably have us using stun rounds and flashbangs. That way we can still treat them with extreme prejudice without actually killing anyone.”

“Search and destroy,” Janada said with a barely-concealed grin. “My favorite.”

“Remember our conversation,” Vhetin murmured, low enough that only she could hear.

She waved a hand dismissively and turned her attention back to the sergeant. Vhetin quickly did the same, not wanting to miss the battle plan. The sergeant was gesturing to the map with his mechanical hand, to a red X in a sewer junction.

“That's going to be the main focal point of the attack,” he said. “Where Caranthyr's defense is going to smash against our offense. Because of that, we're sending in the barricade troopers to support that location. Their bout with D'harhan has weakened our barricade division and losing Gundark was hard on morale. But Tyrant is in control of the troopers now and he's got them back up to fighting strength.

“The barricade troopers will provide cover while you _vode_ man the cannon emplacements and cut down anyone standing in your way. The scouts report that Caranthyr has a mix of droids, _aruetiise_, and full _beskar_-wearing Mandalorians, so the fighting here will be the thickest.”

He clenched a fist and looked directly at Vhetin. “You there. Bounty hunter.”

Vhetin slowly stood, resting a hand on his belt. The sergeant nodded to him and said, “You're one of the few _jetii'kad_ users we've got hanging about, so I want you at the forward operating post, coordinating the attack there. A Jedi weapon like yours may just get the enemy running scared.”

Vhetin nodded back and said, “My defensive tactics are a little rusty, but I remember the Supercommando deployment on Palora Six. Should be something like that.”

There were scattered murmurs of agreement around the room. Vhetin took his seat again. Janada leaned over and murmured, “You do remember that we lost over a hundred men on Palora Six?”

“We aren't fighting spider droids this time,” Vhetin replied. “Caranthyr and the majority of his men are just flesh and blood like us.”

The sergeant rested his hands on his hips and said, “I'm not happy to have to remind you of this, but you all know a Mando's weak points. For a killing blow, aim for the throat or underarm. For a disabling shot, aim for the back of the knee. We're strongest when we're facing our enemy straight-on. Your best bet to kill or incapacitate when being attacked is to flank your opponent and hit them from the sides or behind.”

Uneasy murmurs went through the room and the sergeant's voice took on a steely edge. “As of right now, we can't tell the difference between Caranthyr's men and those under the influence of his control collars. So treat everyone you see as hostile and drop them with stun rounds; we'll take them into custody and sort them out later. We don't know how many men Caranthyr has at his disposal, but we know that a lot of his troops are innocent _vode_. They're still your brothers, even if they're shooting at you. Treat them as such.

He sighed sadly and folded his arms. “Dismissed.”

The assembly slowly began to break up and file out. Vhetin and the others waited for the bulk of the officers to leave before they left. Denton watched them go and sighed, “I don't like this. Every time we've thought we were closing in on Caranthyr, he's outmaneuvered us and people have ended up dead.”

“Caranthyr's getting sloppy,” Brianna remarked, rubbing her chin. “He got arrogant and told us his intentions when he fought Cin before. We know Shysa is his target and we know where they're planning to attack him. That gives us an advantage we didn't have before.”

“I still don't like it.”

“You don't have to,” Vhetin said. “We have our orders. And I don't know about you, but I'm not about to let them kill Shysa on my watch.”

“With Jay, Handmaiden, Dala, and all the others watching his back,” Brianna said, “I almost want to see him try.”


	14. Into the Sewers

**Keldabe City Center, Fenn Shysa's Offices**

“Assassins? That's it?” Shysa rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I was honestly hopin' for more out of Caranthyr an' his mates. Not really all he's cracked up to be, is he?”

“Respectfully, _Mand'alor_,” Jay said, “this man's responsible for everything that's been happening for the past few days. Five bombings, thirty deaths, probably countless more injuries. I'd be thankful if all he's trying to do is kill you.”

Tobbi Dala nodded. “I agree. For a _dar'manda_ coward, Caranthyr's been surprisingly inventive. And he's got D'harhan on his side. If they send that son of a bitch after you, I'm not sure we can keep him back.”

Shysa chuckled before taking a long pull from a bottle of _ne'tra gal_.. “Tobbi, mate... we survived the Clone Wars together. Far bigger odds facin' us down then.”

“I've seen D'harhan in action, sir,” Dala said. “I'd almost rather we were going toe-to-toe against General Grievous again.”

“Don't forget,” Shysa pointed out, “that you'd still be stuck at square one if he hadn't bashed his way into the sewers for you. It's only because of him that you know where Caranthyr's base is.”

“And I'm guessing Caranthyr isn't too happy about that,” Jay said worriedly. Even with his recent behavior, he was still her friend. She didn't want him to become Caranthyr's plaything or the brunt of the changeling's aggression. D'harhan was part of her team, and she'd do all she could to make sure he made it out of this in one piece. “If it comes down to it, please try to take D'harhan alive. I think we can help him.”

Dala, however, seemed to feel differently. He glared at her and said, “That beast is responsible for the deaths of over ten Mandalorians. I'm not going to show him quarter after that ambush he set up downtown.”

“Before he retreated, he spoke to me,” Jay said. “The device Caranthyr was using to control him had been damaged. He was fighting against Caranthyr's control, which means the people wearing these collars can be saved. D'harhan isn't any more guilty of the things he's done than the Mandalorians who acted as suicide bombers. Or the ones you're about to fight, for that matter.”

Shysa threw his head back and laughed, then took another swig of the strong Mandalorian brew. “_Agh_... I hate to say it, but I'm getting' too old for this _osik_. What happened to the days when your enemies faced you down on the honorable field of battle? When they had the _gettse_ to cross swords with a man in the age-old dance of combat?”

“You're getting poetic on us, Fenn,” Dala said, eyeing the bottle of _ne'tra gal_. “You've got a press conference to attend and an assassination to foil. I'd go easy on the booze if I was you.”

“Aye, I'm sure you're right,” Shysa said. He tipped the bottle to Dala, who politely turned it down. Shysa sighed and corked the _gal_, setting it aside for the time being. He stood from his chair and turned the the large panoramic window that looked out over the MandalMotors complex. The colossal red pillar of MandalMotors Tower loomed high over them, casting everything in its path into shadow.

“_Mandalore the Meek_, eh? That's what my own people are whisperin' behind my back?”

“A small few, sir,” Jay said.

“But they're sayin' it nonetheless,” Shysa said. He shook his head and muttered a slow _mando'a _curse Jay wasn't familiar with. Then he turned back to them, his gaze falling on the Handmaiden. She was reclining on a tabletop near the door, watching the proceedings with interest and spinning the hilt of her quarterstaff absently in her palm.

“You there,” Shysa called to her. “Echani. What do you think of all this?”

The quarterstaff went instantly still and the Handmaiden's blue gaze snapped up to meet Shysa's green one. She tipped her hooded head and said, “Why do you seek my counsel?”

“You're the only one in our comp'ny that hates us _Mando'ade_,” Shysa said. “Do all anti-Mandos think the same way Caranthyr does?”

The Handmaiden pursed her lips for a few moments and looked away, pondering over her answer. She followed Shysa's earlier gaze and stared at MandalMotors tower. Eventually, she took a breath and began, “I cannot claim to hold any respect in my heart for you or your kin. Your Mandalorians are brutes, their code a joke, their reputation ill-gotten. However, despite my dislike of your people, I was interested to see what so-called _virtues_ their leader posessed.”

She half-extended her quarterstaff and rested it on the table, leaning on it as she watched Shysa intently. “I will not lie; I was... surprised by your rule. You seek peace where possible and have maintained that peace despite everyone around you resenting it. Your treaties with the Empire are questionable and scandalous to your people, but you understand that it is the only way any of you will survive the coming centuries.”

She cocked her head. “Mandalorians have faced a difficult path over the last millenia. Driven out of their home, chased across the galaxy, then widely disregarded. Your predecessors tried to recapture some of their former glory, to the ruination of all. But you, however... you are different. You seek not to expand Mandalorian influence or capture new territories for your bloodthirsty empire to expand. You seek only to maintain what little your people have left and protect it against those who seek to take it. And though I hold no respect for you, or your people, I find it possible to respect that.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I do not believe you will ever be Mandalore's most beloved ruler. Nor do I believe you will be the strongest, or the wisest.”

Shysa scoffed. “You sure know how to make a man feel appreciated, lass.”

“But,” the Handmaiden continued, “I believe you are the best leader these people have had in a very long time. And potentially the best they will have for a very long time to come. Caranthyr does not recognize that. He does not acknowledge that your leadership is the only reason the Mandalorians have survived these Dark Times into whch we have fallen. But you understand, and work to better the lot of your people. For that reason I will do my best to protect you, though I shall not mourn your passing should I fail.”

Shysa shrugged and shook a long lock of blond hair from his eyes. “I couldn't ask for more, I guess.”

The Handmaiden bowed her head slightly, retracted her staff, and returned to spinning the hilt in her palm. Shysa turned his attention back to the window, resting a hand on his helmet dome and tracing the pattern of the white _Jaig_ eyes across the helmet forehead with his thumb.

“You know how I got this sigil, lass?” Shysa said. Jay assumed he was talking to her, so she shook her head. Shysa smiled, half to himself, and said, “Back during the Clone Wars, Mandalore was under the thumb of the New Mandalorian pacifists. Keldabe was little more than a ghost town, and the Keldabe Clans were scattered across the galaxy. The Skiratas were off fighting for the Republic, the Umaans were working for the Confederacy, and the Bralors were wasting away up in Norg Bral. The rest of people were either living in poverty here on Mandalore or off fighting _aruetiise's_ wars elsewhere in the galaxy. Our people were on the verge of complete collapse. Dala and I were working in Keldabe as deputies in the enforcement office when we received the call to serve from _Mand'alor_ the Resurrector to rebuild and reclaim what we had lost.”

“I... I didn't know that,” Jay said. She had always assumed the Mandalorian Clans had always been in control of the planet. She'd heard of the political turmoil on the planet when she'd been a girl, but had never paid it much mind.

Shysa looked down at his helmet and continued, “Together we rebuilt the Mandalorian Protectors and, with the help of the Seperatists, reunited the clans. We forced the New Mandalorians out of political power and reclaimed our homeworld. It was not an easy task, and many _Mando'ade_ paid with their lives to see it done.”

He turned back to Jay and the others. “I was given the _Jaig_ eyes for my part in rebuilding our culture. We were all given the award, those of us who survived the Mandalorian Reclaimation. Dala received the award too, though the stubborn bugger refuses to wear it.”

“I did what I had to for the good of the _Mando'ade_,” Dala growled. “It was duty, not heroism.”

“The point is,” Shysa said, “we've fought and bled and lost for this planet. My kin and I have sacrificed nigh on _everything_ for the safety and well being of our people. And I'll be damned if I'm gonna let these bastards claim otherwise.”

He met Jay's eyes and held her gaze. “You've already survived one attack from Mandalorian psychopaths, lass. I hope you can help me do the same.”

He stepped past her, heading toward a transparisteel display case. He slowly eased open the lid and stared down at a massive _beskad_ longsaber, the reflective black hilt engraved with hundreds of ancient _Mando'a_ runes. The handgrip was worn by the grip of what looked like centuries of use. Shysa traced his fingers across the scuffed and worn scabbard with an almost reverent look on his face.

“This blade was carried into battle on Mandalorian soil by my predecessors during the Taming of Mandalore,” he murmured, sounding as if he were speaking to himself more than anyone else. “It's blade tasted the blood of the Mythosaurs, and cut down hundreds who stood to uproot us from our conquered land.”

He looked over at Dala with a weary look on his face. “After all these centuries, it isn't over yet, is it? _Manda'yaim_ is not yet tamed.”

“No, _Mand'alor_. I'm not sure it ever will be. Would you have it any other way?”

“No. No, I wouldn't.” Shysa turned back to the massive sword, then hefted it out of the display case and hooked it over his armored shoulders. When slung over his back, the blade was almost three-quarters his height. Jay shuddered to imagine the damage it could do in battle.

“I've fought as hard as anyone else for this planet,” he said, a scowl crossing his gaunt face. “And if they really want to kill me, after all I've done... then I'll show them just how much harder I'm willing to fight to prove them wrong.”

Jay nodded, glad to see the _Mand'alor's _defiance. Dala rested a hand on Shysa's shoulder in both reassurance and approval. And even the Handmaiden cracked a rare smile and murmured, “Words to live by, Mandalorian.”

~~~~~~~~

**Keldabe City Sewers**

“Let's get these barricades up.” Brianna hoisted a durasteel beam over her shoulder. The thing was heavy, but just barely manageable. She gritted her teeth and grunted, “I'm not waiting for that bloody changeling to sneak up on us.”

Janada shrugged behind her, leaning back and folding her legs while perched on a supply crate. “He can change his face and his armor configuration. If he decided to sneak up on us, your durasteel barricade isn't going to keep him out.”

Brianna pressed the beam against the framework of the barricade, holding it there while two Mandos assisting her welded it into place. Once it was able to hold itself without her help, she turned back to Janada with a scowl. “Do you think you could at least pretend to care about this? We don't want Caranthyr infiltrating our defenses.”

“Speak for yourself,” Janada said, tapping the blade of of a _kad'ika_, which was resting on her lap. “If Caranthyr gets here, I'm gonna bury this baby hilt-deep in his forehead. Save the enforcement office the expense of paying you for his capture.”

“How altruistic,” Brianna said, rolling her eyes. “But you do remember that Vhetin beat him, stabbed him, slit his throat and he _still_ didn't die?”

“I didn't remember,” she admitted, “until now.”

“So now will you help me build this?”

“Nope,” Janada said. “I have a new plan.”

“Which is?”

“I'm gonna cut his kriffing head off.”

Brianna laughed despite herself. “Let me know how that goes for you. In the meantime, can you help me out? These barricades aren't going to build themselves.”

The sewers where the enforcement office was going to make its stand were far from the most defensible position; a collection of damp, dirty, maze-like tunnels built centuries ago by the early Mandalorians. The junction Brianna – and Janada, in theory – was helping barricade was no better. The walls, lit by the flickering light of both mechanical illuminators and ancient torches, were a dark, filthy beige. Murky water covered the floor up to their ankles and dripped down from the walls and ceiling. Their voices echoed dangerously in the open area, making Brianna uncomfortable to speak too loud.

Honestly, Brianne couldn't understand why they were even branching out to defend such a large area. Why not fall back and defend the main hub of the forward operating base? She understood that if they were going to stand any chance against Caranthyr and his men they would need to spread his forces thin. But the enforcement office was understaffed already, and there were plenty of places where they could bring their foes into a bottleneck before cutting them down with the heavy mobile cannons.

But orders were orders and Brianna knew Cin was doing his best. It wasn't even a bad plan: spread out Caranthyr's forces, draw them thin, then strike where they were weakest. Instead of fighting one massive battle, they would isntead be fighting numerous smaller ones. In a situation like that, Caranthyr's numbers would count for nothing, at least not when balanced against the enforcement office's superior firepower.

Janada said, leaning back against the sewer wall once again. “Where is Cin anyway?”

“Off coordinating the defense of the primary attack point,” Brianna said, grabbing another durasteel beam from the wall next to Janada. “He should be checking in soon. Maybe _he'll _help me out.”

“You should should apologize.”

Brianna hesitated, freezing where she stood. She forced herself not to look back at the other woman. “What are you talking about?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Janada glare at her. The woman leaned forward and rested her arms on her thigh plates. “You know exactly what I'm talking about, Brianna. You should apologize to Cin. It would go a long way to patching things up between you two.”

Brianna sighed and shook her head. “Things are...”

“Don't say things are fine between you two, because they aren't. I know you two have made up a little, but if you really want to put this whole deal behind you, you need to apologize. Like it or not, you're in the wrong here.”

The two Mandos helping Brianna glanced uncomfortably between themselves. The one of them jerked his thumb over his shoulder and said, “Yeah... we're gonna hook up with the rest of the squad and help out further down the tunnel.”

“Aye,” Janada said, not even bothering to glance in their direction. She just narrowed her eyes at Brianna as if daring her to disagree. The dancing light from a nearby torch flame threw her face partially into shadow, making her expression otherwise unreadable.

As soon as the two workers had disappeared further down the tunnel and were safely out of earshot, Brianna rounded on the red-armored Mandalorian and growled, “I thought he was _dead._”

“I did too,” Janada said, inspecting her _kad'ika_ with infuriating nonchalance and holding Brianna's angry gaze, “and you didn't see me up and disown him.”

“Cin and I broke up long before he went missing,” Brianna shot back. She hesitated, then said, “Well, a few days at least.”

She grimaced, thejustification sounding awful even to her own ears. She knew Cin deserved an apology, but the venom he showed toward Galaar was unecessary and only served to aggravate things more. She wanted nothing more than to patch things up with her ex, but she was also unwilling to leave Galaar behind like Vhetin so obviously wanted. So she shook her head. “No. Cin is out of line for blowing this so out of proportion. I feel bad for him, but he just has to move on.”

“If your roles were reversed, would you want to just _move on_? _Te Manda_, girl, you need to start putting yourself in his boots. Do you even remember Tamai? How _you_ felt when _they_ were all buddy-buddy?”

Though her blood boiled at the mention of Tamai's name, she had to admit there was a point there. How would she have felt if Vhetin had done the same to her? If he had come within a hair's breadth of cheating on her? If their roles had been reversed, she was sure she would be crushed, and there was no reason to believe he felt different. “I... I guess not.”

“Good,” Janada said, leaning back and burying the tip of her dagger into the crate lid. It sliced into the wooden surface with a resounding _thunk_, as if officially ending the conversation. “So the next time you see Cin, you're going to take him aside and have a nice heart-to-heart. You don't need to apologize for Snake, even though I think you should. But at least apologize for not having faith in him and for hurting his feelings.”

Brianna nodded meekly. “All right.”

“Good,” Janada said again. She gestured lazily back at the barricade, then put her hands behind her head. “Then by all means, continue with your silly, pointless barricade-building.”

Brianna sighed and hefted the heavy durasteel beam again. “Are you going to lend a hand now? You chased off my help with your awkward questions.”

“No need.”

She jumped as a new, quieter voice murmured, “I've got you,” and someone else helped take the weight of the beam. She turned and her heart skipped a beat as she came face-to-face with a ghost.

He was standing there behind her, the weight of the beam resting on one armored shoulder plate. The illuminators cast his figure into light, as he would have otherwise been lost in the shadows. He was dressed in segmented black battle armor with gray stripes adorning the surface, and had a ceremonial Mandalorian _kama_ tucked into his belt. Leather tassles hung from his right shoulder and they danced lightly in the slight breeze wafting toward them from further down the dark tunnel.

“Cin!” she said, sounding more breathless than she intended. “Y-you changed your armor.”

He nodded. “A quick paintjob a friend did for me while we were setting up at the main point of contact.”

He glanced over to his sister. “Sorry, _vod_, but I really couldn't stand the crazy colors of the original kit.”

She shrugged with nonchalance and said, “You paint it, you bought it. Late fees kick in after a week.”

“I'll put it on my list of priorities.” He helped Brianna line up the beam while Janada reluctantly rose from her seat and helped weld it into place. Once done, she returned to her crate and drew her longdagger once more, pulling a cloth from her belt and setting herself to polishing the _beskar_ blade.

“Thanks,” Brianna said, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “You... you didn't hear all that, did you?”

He cocked his head. “Hear what?”

“About me and...” she shook her head. “Never mind.”

“Okay,” he said and turned himself to inspecting the barricades. She was glad he was willing to let it rest; she was embarassed enough as it is. As he worked, she noticed Janada pointedly staring at her, gesting to Cin with a raised eyebrow. Brianna sighed and nodded to her.

_I guess now is as good a time as ever. Might not get another chance for a while. _She bit her lip and tapped his shoulder. When he turned to her, she gestured further down the tunnel and said, “Will you walk with me?”

He stared at her, uncertain, then nodded and silently followed. She led them away from Janada, who bid them farewell with a jaunty salute. Brianna waited until they were out of earshot, then turned back to him and rested her hands on her hips.

“Take your helmet off please.”

His body language suggested confusion, but he reached up and pulled off his helmet. He tucked it under his arm, fixing her with a raised eyebrow. His blue eyes flashed in the darkness, like one of the predatory felines that prowled Mandalore's mountains; it was a by-product of his naturally superior vision in dark areas. Brianna had always found this feature disconcerting and it was only more so now that they were standing in almost pitch darkness. Of course, it didn't help that his features were still little more than a mess of gashes and bruises, the left side of his face still swollen and puffy. Somehow, the reminders of his time spent in Imperial custody only made all this worse.

“What did you need?” he asked. His voice was much quieter when not amplified by his helmet's vocoder. There was a touch of concern in his voice that she simultaneously loved and despised. It certainly didn't make what she was about to say any easier.

_Damn it, _she thought, _why does he have to act so concerned _now_?_

She stared at her boots, not wanting to meet his gaze now. “I just... I just wanted to tell you that...: She shook her head and looked up at the ceiling. “Kriff, this is harder than I thought.”

He cocked his head, looking concerned. “I'm all ears, Bri. Take your time.”

“I told you not to call me that. This is going to be difficult enough without you calling me by that name.”

“Okay,” he said. “Brianna, then.”

“Right,” she said. She gritted her teeth. “I just wanted to tell you... I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry.”

“Sorry?” he said with a frown. “What about?”

“You know bloody well what about,” she snapped. As soon as she had spoken, she grimaced and said, “Sorry. I'm just... this is hard for me.”

She took a deep breath, gathering both her thoughts and her courage. “I'm sorry for hurting you so badly. If our positions were reversed, I wouldn't have wanted to come back home in the way you did. You wouldn't have treated me like that, and it was wrong of me to treat you in such a manner and expect you would be fine with it.”

“Brianna-”

“But,” she added forcefully, “I will _not_ apologize for dating Galaar. You may not like him, but I do. I've enjoyed the time I've spent with him and that's final.”

He stared at her for a few moments, then nodded. “Understood. Thank you for apologizing.”

She nodded. “We used to be something once, you and me. Just because that's over doesn't mean we have to forget that fact. And I'm sorry for treating you like your feelings didn't matter. I'm sorry for giving up on you so easily, and I'm sorry-”

He put a hand on her shoulder, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “It's okay, Brianna. If we start apologizing for _everything_ we've done to each other, we'll both be standing here until _haran _freezes over. I'm sorry for coming back to Mandalore and expecting you to come rushing into my arms like some old Holovid floozy. You made your choice and I respect that, even though I'll never respect Snake.”

She smiled and nodded. “I guess that's the best I can ask for. Thanks.”

Together, they began the trek back to the barricade line. Janada was nowhere to be seen now, probably having left to regroup with the others at the F.O.B. in preparation of the pre-battle briefing.

Vhetin grabbed a rifle from a nearby weapon rack as they passed. He pulled his helmet back over his head, hiding his ravaged face from view. “Caranthyr and his men should be here before long. Are you willing to watch my back?”

“Just like old times?” she said, taking the weapon and tucking it against her shoulder. “Sure. Why not?”

~~~~~~~~

**Rally Point Alpha, Keldabe Sewer System, ten minutes later**

“These aren't your average, run-of-the-mill mercs,” Vhetin said, walking up and down the line of assembled gold-armored Mandalorians. “They're _Mando'ade_. And even though they're your brothers, they will be trying to kill you. The problem is that they aren't doing this willingly. For that reason, we're going to be using stun rounds for this op.”

One of the Mandalorians scoffed. “Are we ever going to use live-fire ammo again?”

“You'd rather kill innocent Mandalorians?” Vhetin said to the man. “These people aren't doing this because they want to. They're basically kidnapped prisoners. So we're going to arrest them and hope the local medcenter can surgically remove those collars.”

There were nods up and down the line, and it looked like the majority of the officers present agreed with the order. That was good, as it would make his job as coordinator easier. He nodded to a few officers he recognized, as well as a few survivors of D'harhan's attack that had volunteered for the battle.

One such officer decided to raise such a concern. “What about that alien, sir? The one with the cannon for a head?”

“We have reason to believe D'harhan will be aiding the enemy in this fight. We've proven that our weapons aren't enough to bring him down for good, so we're at a disadvantage. If he does attack, we have repulsorlift tank-cannon emplacements ready to deal with him. We have MandalMotors techs on-site to operate the cannons, so you don't have to worry about using them.”

“And if that doesn't work?” the man pressed. “We threw everything we had at him back at that herb shop and it didn't even slow him down.”

Vhetin nodded, understanding their concerns. “If _that_ doesn't work, Janada here has volunteered to lead him away from the main group and try to lose him in the sewers. His size will work to his disadvantage; if we can lead him into one of the smaller tunnels and manage to disable his primary weapon, he'll be trapped and defenseless.

Janada nodded. “I'm much tinier than he is, so I'm hoping to be able to outmaneuver him. Anyone willing to join a firesquad and help me out would be appreciated.”

Two hands crawled up and Janada nodded in approval, a smile tugging at her lips. Vhetin, meanwhile, projected a holographic map of the sewers into the air in front of them. A pulsing red dot in the center of the map showed the location of Caranthyr's main base. “Forward Recon has confirmed that there is a large, fortified structure at this point, about two kilometers from our position. We have every reason to believe it's Caranthyr's base of operations. Our primary objective is to draw his forces to our position and away from Shysa. Once the assassination has been foiled and the _Mand'alor _is safe, our objective is to take his main base and put it out of commission.”

“Our forces,” he continued, “have been split up into four teams defending strategic positions throughout the sewers. We're Team Alpha, supported elsewhere in the sewers by Teams Beta and Gamma. Team Delta is waiting to the rear of our position to support us in case we're driven back. The plan is to spread out Caranthyr's men, but we have reason to believe the bulk of his troops will hit us here.”

He rested his hands on his belt and said, “Basically, our orders are to sit here and outlast the waves of Caranthyr's troops until we get word from up top to push forward. Think we can do that?”

“_Haran lek_!” his troops shouted, snapping off a salute in unison. “Hell yeah!”

Vhetin nodded in aproval and folded his arms. “Any questions?”

One gold-armored officer raised a hand slowly and Vhetin nodded to him. “What about Caranthyr himself?”

“Chances are good we aren't going to find him,” Vhetin said. “He could look like anyone and based on past altercations with him, he can regenerate most wounds. But we have scans of what we believe is his default form, which are uploading to your HUDs now, just in case. ”

“What kind of wounds?”

Vhetin ejected one of his gauntlet's shortsword blades and held it up for all to see. “I buried two of these hilt-deep into his chest, then used them to cut his throat. He pretended to be hurt, then framed me for killing an enforcement officer to remove me from the equation.”

He sheathed the blade. “We're not sure of his location and it's entirely possible he'll focus all his attention on Shysa. But if you do find him, make sure you take him down with non-lethal measures. Shysa has given us direct orders to take him _alive_ so we can figure out who's bankrolling his operation. Do _not_ kill him.”

Janada snorted under her breath. “Fat chance of that.”

“We still want to know who he's working for and why,” Vhetin said, ignoring her. “So priority orders are to take him into our custody. Understand?”

“Yes sir!”

“Good. Then take your positions. Forward Recon reports Caranthyr's troops are on their way. They'll be here soon.”

The officers split up in preparation, chattering among themselves as troops always do before battle. Vhetin watched them disperse, then turned to Janada. He put a hand on her shoulder, a Mandalorian gesture of reassurance.

“Be careful,” he said. “D'harhan is dangerous. Even the Handmaiden couldn't take him.”

She frowned at him. “You're saying I'm not as good as that Echani?”

“No,” he quickly clarified. “But D'harhan is powerful and naturally resistant to blaster fire. So in case you get in trouble...”

He unhooked one of his lightsabers and held it out to her. “You know how to use this weapon and it seemed to be the only thing that slowed D'harhan down, even temporarily.”

She nodded slowly, taking the cylindrical hilt from his grasp and clipped it to her own belt. “It's been a while, but a sword's a sword. _Vor'e_.”

“Just be careful,” he insisted. “And if you get trapped down here with him, if it comes down to either you or him, you take that lightsaber and you cut his kriffing head off. I don't care if he's Jay's friend. ”

“I thought orders were to take him alive?”

“I'm saying otherwise,” he said. “D'harhan is more dangerous than I originally realized. The only reason he didn't kill us the first time around is because he was fighting Caranthyr's control. If we come across him again, I don't think that'll be the case.”

She frowned at him, then nodded. “I'll be careful. Don't worry.”

He nodded back. “Good. Hopefully he stays far away from our battlefield and goes after Shysa instead. Dala and Jay are equipped to deal with him. We aren't.”

She smiled and put a hand on his shoulder plate, mirroring his earlier action. “It'll be fine, little bro. We'll all make it out of this together. No one expects you to single-handedly save this entire operation.”

He scowled behind his helmet. “I do.”

“Don't be so damn hard on yourself. Everyone here is willing to stand and fight. Most commanders aren't that lucky.”

She squeezed his shoulder and said, “Good luck.”

She stepped away, pulling her helmet over his head. “I'll see you once we're all out of this. I meant what I said about poker night; I expect us both to be there. _Oya!_”

He nodded, watching her turn and jog away into the dark. He had a disturbing feeling that it would be the last time he saw her. He shook his head and thought, _get control of yourself. You're just shaken from your fight with D'harhan. She's going to be fine._

As he made his way back to regroup with Brianna and the others, he found himself dialing out a comm number. He didn't really know why, but he deeded to talk. As the dialing tone sounded through his helmet's audio receptors, he let out a quiet chuckle. _Me wanting to talk to someone. That's a first._

After a few tones, a voice on the other end picked up. “_Cin? Are you all right?_”

“We're all fine, Jay,” he reassured her. “We're just settling in for our defensive. Janada's agreed to divert D'harhan if he shows up.”

“_She volunteered? That seems... uh, brave._”

“I wasn't exactly pleased with it either,” he said, “but she made a good case. She's much smaller than he is and faster in confined spaces too. If he decides to come down here, she can probably outmaneuver him.”

“_But you're still worried?_”

He sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. “I'm worried about all of this. I've never been in a position of command like this. And Shysa thinks I can do this just because I have a lightsaber pike? That I might somehow scare Caranthyr's men into surrender?”

He could hear Jay laugh over the comm. “_I'm sure there were better reasons than that, Cin. You're a great leader. I can attest to that myself._”

“Thanks,” he said, “but I'm not looking for a pep talk.”

“_Oh? What did you want to talk about, then?”_

“I just... I need to know that we're doing the right thing here. That _I'm_ doing the right thing. I'm flying blind and yet so much depends on me and my team. And I am _not_ a team player.”

“_You've worked with me all this time._”

“That's not the same,” he said. “That's just you and me. We watch each other's backs. I can't watch everyone down here. And it's not like Protector deployments either. Whenever I serve with them, I'm always following orders.”

“_Cin_,” she said, her tone leaving no room for disagreement. “_I need you to listen to me. You're going to be _fine_. Unlike you, I used to be a team player. And I can tell you with certainty that you're going to do exactly as much as you are able to do. That's all anyone is asking of you; just do your best. Yes, people will die, and there's no getting around that. But the important thing is that you keep your cool and make sure as many as possible make it out of this. I'm going to be doing the same thing up here.”_

He let out a long breath and rested his hands against the tunnel wall. “Things are so much simpler when a crime lord just points at a target and says _dead or alive_.”

A laugh. _“We can't always be that lucky in our priorities, Cin. Things like this are going to happen to you in this business. You can't always be a lone wolf.”_

“I guess I had a good enough run at that. Seven years is a hell of a streak.”

“_If it helps, just think of the shiny medal they'll pin on your chest once this is all over_.”

He snorted. “I don't think that's going to happen.”

“_Just pretend that it will. What's that Mando saying? Hope for the best-”_

“And plan for the worst,” he finished. As much as he didn't want to admit it, she had a good point. This was the hand he'd been dealt; he could only play it to the best of his abilities. And his abilities were pretty damn good. “Okay. I can do this.”

“_You can. I think if anyone can, it's you.”_

“Thanks.”

“_Of course_,” she continued, “_there's probably a whole score of people who could do it _better_ than you, but beggars can't be choosers._”

He let out a hoarse chuckle. “Very funny.”

“_I try. Now get out there and kick some _dar'manda _ass, partner.”_

He nodded. “I will. Stay safe, Jay.”

“_You know me_,” she replied. “_Moqena out_.”

The comm cut out, and just in time; Denton was making his way toward him from further down the tunnel. Vhetin greeted him with a nod and said, “How is everyone?”

“Holding steady,” Denton said with a nod. He rested his hands on his hips. “We've got those Canderous turrets in place and the officers are bunkering down for the assault. Forward Recon reports that Caranthyr's men are onto us. Best estimates give us an estimate of ten, maybe fifteen minutes before we're under attack. Any last things you want to say to the troops before we get underway?”

He shook his head. “I've said all I need to say. Do you think everyone's ready?”

Denton frowned. “I think everyone is as ready as they'll be. We're armed, angry, and ready for a fight. And we're all willing to follow your lead.”

Vhetin sighed. “That's what I'm afraid of.”

Denton chuckled and folded his arms across his chest. “Nervous?”

“You have no idea.”

“I know it must be a pretty big change for you, working as a team leader. But if everything Jay's told me is true, you're going to do fine. The way she talks about you, people would think you're a god among men.”

“Seriously?”

He nodded. “Seriously. She thinks the world of you, you know. Never heard her talk about someone the way she does about you. The next coming of Mandalore the Ultimate by her reckoning. It's always _Vhetin would do this_ and _Vhetin says this is a good idea_. You're her hero.”

For the first time in a _very_ long time, Vhetin found himself blushing behind his helmet. “She's too kind. I'm far from hero material.”

“No one's perfect,” Denton said. He drew himself up to his full height and nodded. “But I trust Jay. And if she says you can get this done, I believe you can too. And I'll make sure everyone else knows it; all you have to do is prove me right.”

“I'll try not to disappoint.”

“Make sure you don't,” Denton said. “My reputation depends on it.”

Before they could say more, a sudden explosion shook dust loose from the heavy stone bricks of the ceiling. Vhetin quickly grabbed his rifle, making sure his saber pike was clipped to his jetpack.

Brianna came sprinting toward them from the direction of the F.O.B. She kept glancing over her shoulder, as if sure someone was chasing her. As she drew closer to them, she drew to a halt, resting her hands on her knees to catch her breath.

“Just got word,” she panted, jerking her thumb over her shoulder, “Caranthyr's men just attacked our Forward Recon team. We've got three minutes tops before they're all over us.”

Denton hefted his own rifle and clapped Vhetin's shoulder. “Time to get to work. Meet you at the party, Boss. I'll keep everyone focused until you get there.”

With that, he took off in the direction of the explosion, pulling his helmet over his head as he ran. After a few moments, he had disappeared around a corner and was lost from sight.

Brianna shook a strand of hair out of her face and breathed, “Forward Recon was falling back last I spoke to them. They'll regroup with us at the F.O.B. and provide fire support. It sounds like Caranthyr fell for our little ploy and sent a large force to fight us. We'll have our work cut out for us.”

Vhetin nodded and set off after Denton. “Well let's not keep them waiting, then.”

~~~~~~~~

**Keldabe Sewer Forward Operating Base (F.O.B.)**

Janada paced back and forth by the barricade line, rifle clutched in her hands. The explosion had come from further down the tunnel, from Forward Recon's position deeper in the sewers. The assembled officers could see the dying light of the explosion from their ranks behind the barricade lines, but none of Caranthyr's men were in sight yet.

Denton came jogging out from a side tunnel, pulling his gold-gray helmet over his head. “All right, men,” he called as he took his place in the line. “Remember, we're not looking for a deathmatch here. We want to subdue these creeps, not kill them.”

The enforcement officers, almost forty of them, were arrayed with military precision in tight, ranked formation for rows deep. The plan was to knock down Caranthyr's forces with a volley of stun rounds while a special squad of officers on either side of the firing line restrained the fallen in preparation for transport to a nearby holding facility. Forward Recon's estimates of the enemy were standing at seventy to one-hundred guns: men, women, and children. Janada shuddered to think of just how Caranthyr had managed to kidnap so many people in so little time.

The special MandalMotors prototype cannons, all six of them, had been set up on raised platforms that flanked the main firing line. A team of three troopers manned each turret, ready to fire at a moment's notice. The troopers in charge of aiming the weapons were swiveling slowly back and forth across the tunnel ahead, with the reloaders patiently waiting for their part and the maintenance techs running last-minute diagnostics on the weapons while they had the chance.

They were as prepared as they would ever be. But would it be enough? She hefted her rifle again and shifted her feet anxiously. The trooper next to her glanced over and said, “_Udesii_, _vod_. No one profits if you're amped up like this.”

She nodded and said, “I won't let anyone down.”

They could hear the heavy pounding of footsteps from further down the tunnel, steadily approaching their position. Janada narrowed her eyes as troopers up and down the line began fidgeting in anticipation. Janada looked over at the man next to her, noticing he wasn't wearing protector colors. His armor was silver and green, with boiled black leather pauldrons and a black shoulder cape.

“Why are you here?” she asked. “You're no enforcement officer. You volunteer for this insanity?”

The man tensed and murmured, “Caranthy'rs got my brother. I'm going to make that son of a bitch pay for messing with my _aliit_.”

“As noble a cause as any,” Janada said. “Good luck.”

Seconds later, the Forward Recon teams came sprinting around the corner. Composed of small squads of lightly-armed, lightly-armored Mandalorians, the Recon troopers were battered and scraped from close calls, though it didn't look like anyone was dead yet. They quickly made their way to the rear of the group to catch their breath, gratefully accepting weapons and ammo from nearby troopers.

“Report,” Denton called.

“They were right behind us,” the trooper designated Recon One replied, resting his hands on his knees. “Gotta be eighty or ninety of them.Almost half that number on their way to hit the other teams.”

“What about Caranthyr's base?”

“We got eyes on it, sir. Looks like even more targets there. Couldn't tell if they were friend or foe.”

“That's all right,” Denton said. “Catch your breath and get ready for a firefight.”

Recon One nodded, shooting off an exhausted salute before taking his place in the rear line with the rest of his men.

Janada took a deep breath. “Won't be long now.”

“Yeah,” the man next to her grunted. “So why are you here?”

“My brother's the one leading this op. I promised I'd help him.”

“The guy in the black is your brother? Man, I would not want to be him right now.”

“He's got a good plan,” Janada said. “We're the best chance Shysa's got of making it out of this.”

“I guess,” the man replied. “I appreciate your brother not putting out a kill order on all of Caranthyr's men. I just wish someone with the enforcement office was in charge.”

“You can trust Cin,” Janada reasurred him. “He's good at what he does and he doesn't tolerate failure, from himself most of all. He'll make sure we get through this.”

The first of Caranthyr's men finally turned the corner in the tunnel ahead of them: a disorganized mob of Mandalorians, _aruetiise_, and aliens all wearing identical, upgraded control collars. Unlike the previous bombers, these people were not struggling or showing any signs of forced servitude. They walked smoothly, calmly, with identical dead looks in their eyes. They were holding what looked like black market weaponry, definitely ill-gotten goods.

Vhetin strode out of a side tunnel, an armed and angry-looking Brianna at his side. He had a rifle in his hands and his saber pike clipped to his rocket pack just in case. He raised a fist, a traditional Mandalorian call for attention, as he and Brianna made their way to the front of the firing line.

“_Vode_!” he called. “Ready to kick some _dar'manda shebs_?”

“_Oya!_” came the dutiful response.

“Then aim judiciously, fight bravely, and above all else _do not hesitate_. These people are still your _vode_, but they will not act like it. Don't let your emotions get the better of you or you _will_ die.”

“Mind-controlled or not,” one officer called out, “they can't take on true Mandalorians!”

Brianna nodded with a grin as Vhetin raised his fist again. “_Par Manda'yaim bal Mand'alor!”_

Every assembled trooper, even Brianna and the scattered _aruetii_ auxiliaries, threw their fists in the air and shouted back, “_Par Manda'yaim bal Mand'alor_!”

With that, Vhetin stepped into the firing line, Brianna at his side, and merged with the assembled troopers. Caranthyr's forces were drawing closer, almost within range now. The first line of troopers raised their weapons, presenting a solid line of blasters to the enemy. The line behind them also raised their weapons, aiming them between the shoulders of the first line. Janada, standing in the first line, adjusted her footing and tucked her rifle tight against her shoulder.

“Wait for it...” Vhetin called from his position somewhere to her left. “Wait for it...”

Caranthyr's forces suddenly came to a startling halt, one hundred people stopping as a single cohesive unit. Then, in a single unified voice, they spoke: a massive amalgamation of men, women, and children all speaking in the voice of a collective crowd. Janada's skin crawled as she listened to Caranthyr speak through his army of slack-jawed, dead-eyed slaves.

“_Conflict is unnecessary_,” the voices said. “_Put your weapons on the ground and go home. You can't stop what has been set into motion. Your resistance is doomed to fail._”

There was shocked silence along the firing line. They had expected their opponents to be mindless zombies, not toys for Caranthyr to play with. Janada found herself bristling at Caranthyr's blatant disregard for the lives of his brothers and sisters.

_Even if he is Death Watch, _she thought, _he's still a Mandalorian, and he should hold some kind of respect for his fellows. This is exactly the kind of _dar'manda_ bullshit I've come to expect from these _kyr'tsad _sons of bitches._

Eventually, Vhetin lowered his rifle slightly and called, “Caranthyr, you know you can't succeed here. People who were far smarter and braver than you have tried time and again to assassinate Shysa and he's still kicking.”

The entire crowd, all one hundred of them, fixed Vhetin with an identical glare. They stared at him in silence for a few moments, then rumbled, “_I should have known those corrupt enforcement officers would never keep you imprisoned. It doesn't matter. You'll die here like all the rest_.”

Vhetin shook his head and said, “I don't plan on it. And neither do any of these other people. And when we find you, you'll be facing worse than exile. Shysa will kill you for what you've done.”

With a thunderous clatter, one hundred blasters snapped up. “_He can try_.”

Vhetin's rifle also snapped up and he called out, “Open fire!”

The first two rows of enforcement officers fired at will, lighting up the space between the two opposing groups with blinding, blue-white stun rounds. Janada mashed her finger against the rifle's firing stud as quickly as she could manage. Caranthyr's puppets simply absorbed the fire, the people nearest to the firing line crumpling to the ground in piles.

“This is wrong!” Janada's companion shouted over the din. “We're shooting _children_!”

“Stunning!” Janada shouted back. “Not shooting!”

Still, she had to agree with the man. Caranthyr's puppet soldiers weren't even trying to defend themselves. They simply stood and took the abuse, dropping like sacks of grassgrain to the sewer floor. And when the first groups of mind-controlled people had been felled, Caranthyr's forces simply stepped over them, putting more bodies in the firing line's sights. The snap of blaster fire grew louder and louder while the mobile cannon techs fidgeted anxiously, waiting for their cue.

“Cannon techs!” Vhetin roared over the commotion. “Light 'em up!”

The cannon techs happily obliged. With a roaring _boom_ the cannons opened up, sending huge rings of blue-white light screeching toward the enemy. The stun bolts exploded on impact, sending chain lightning thrashing out between multiple targets. Each cannon bolt took out three to four targets, quickly creating piles of unconscious bodies that the collared Mandalorians to the rear needed to work around before advancing. Janada found herself grinning at the efficiency of the weapons and thought, _Good ol' MandalMotors tech. Always reliable when you need it._

It wasn't long before the first two lines were out of ammunition. Janada glanced over to see Vhetin eject the clip of his rifle, a cloud of steam erupting from the heat-sink. When the rate of fire from the front lines began to taper off, Vhetin shouted, “Down!”

The first two lines of troopers dropped to their knees to reload while the rear two lines raised their weapons and opened fire. Janada winced as blue-white stun round fire slashed out into the air just over her helmet. She adjusted her footing on the moist stones under her feet as she ejected the tibanna gas charge, letting it clatter away. She pulled another charge from a pouch on her belt and slammed it home, feeding the gas into the blaster and racking back the charging rod.

“Ready!” called someone further down the line.

“Ready!” came another voice.

More and more officers in the first two firing lines checked in, including Janada and her companion. They waited, paitently crouched while the rear lines emptied their weapons at the enemy. When the rear guard's weapons ran dry, they fell into a crouch and the first two lines stood and resumed fire.

Caranthyr's forces just kept marching forward. The children and unarmored women usually dropped with one stun round, writhing and screeching on the stone floor. But the armored men and women were a different story; their _beskar_ armor absorbed the incoming fire with no trouble and they just kept advancing. They were just over ten feet away from the hastily-erected barricade defenses now. Those would slow them down, but Janada held no belief that it would stop them completely.

“Get ready!” she heard someone shout further down the line. Caranthyr's zombies kept coming. Janada clenched her teeth, knowing that whatever Caranthyr was planning would happen in the next few moments.

When it did happen, it didn't come from the direction anyone was expecting. A thick detonation sounded from somewhere to their far left, drawing all attention in that direction. Janada saw debris and smoke billowing from the barricaded side-tunnel to the right. She could hear more heavy bootsteps coming from down that tunnel.

Seconds later, screams erupted up and down the firing line. Janada cursed as multiple blaster shots hit her in the chest, knocking her onto her backside. In the seconds when the firing line was distracted, Caranthyr's main force had finally opened fire. Blood red blaster rounds sliced through the firing line, knocking armored enforcement officers off their feet. She saw Vhetin stagger under a barrage of fire, knocked to his knees by the savage attack. Brianna fired three stun rounds into the Mandalorian who had attacked him and dragged Vhetin back, away from the brunt of the attack.

“Hey!” Janada's companion said, smacking the side of her helmet to grab her attention. “Focus! They're flanking us!”

Janada cursed and struggled back to her feet and hit her TeamCOM channel, linked directly to her anti-D'harhan fireteam volunteers. She couldn't hope to take the flanking team by herself. “Guys! Meet me at the first cannon emplacement! We're gonna take down the guys flanking us!”

“_Aye_!” came the dutiful response.

Janada clapped her hand against her companion's helmet in farewell, then took off toward the rightmost tunnel. The team flanking their position was getting closer; she could see them through the gaps in the durasteel barricade now. The rest of her team met her there, one man bleeding from minor blaster wounds, the other fairly unscathed. Janada signaled the nearest cannon turret team to join them. The two techs manning the weapon swiveled toward the barricade with the third preparing the weapon for use.

Caranthyr's men were standing just on the other end of the barricade now, staring at Janada and her team through the slats in the makeshift wall. Janada and her team raised their weapons, ready for anything.

But Caranthyr's puppets didn't attack: they spoke. Once again speaking in a single unified voice they boomed, “_Bralor. I should have known your kind would try to stop me._”

Janada grinned behind her helmet. “You know us Bralors. Always willing to lend a hand. Especially if it leads to a blaster bolt between the eyes of any _kyr'tsad_ sons of bitches that get in our way.”

“_I'll make sure they record that sentiment on your tombstone_.”

“We will stop you,” Janada shot back. “You don't have a chance.”

Caranthyr's puppets said nothing. But even over the sounds of battle, Janada could hear a sudden series of rapid beeping. Bright red lights on Caranthyr's collars began blinking rapidly.

_No!_ she thought furiously. _Not here! Not now!_

She cursed and frantically gestured to the rest of her team. “Fall back! Those collars are going to explode!”

She turned to sprint away as quickly as she could. She heard someone shout her name, tell her to retreat. But seconds later, she heard Caranthyr's men speak again.

“_Stop this_.”

Seconds later, the world exploded.

~~~~~~~~

**Three minutes earlier**

Vhetin staggered to his feet, clutching his chest. His new armor plating had stopped all the bolts that had hit him, but it still felt as if he'd been kicked in the chest by a rampaging bantha. Brianna was helping him limp back out of the direct line of fire.

Caranthyr's ploy hadn't been stupid. It was a cold, calculated sacrifice. He'd let the enforcement office cut down almost half his forces with stun rounds before opening fire himself. He'd drawn the defending troopers into a chokehold and his forces were now too close to effectively fight. As Vhetin watched, they climbed up and over the barricades, advancing steadily forward. The incoming fire felled more and more of the enforcement officers, either incapacitating or killing them with precice, almost mechanical shots.

“Fall back!” Vhetin shouted. “Fall back to Rally Point Beta!”

As he finally caught his breath, he pointed to the Canderous cannon techs and shouted, “Keep them back until we're clear, then fall back!”

The nearest trooper ducked an incoming shot and fired the cannon with a resounding _boom_. A fist-sized tibanna cartridge shot from the housing and bounced away across the stone floor. The cannon tech waited for his companion to reload the turret and shouted, “Sir, if we fall back, we'll lose the cannons!”

“You'd rather lose more troopers?” Vhetin shouted back. “Caranthyr's turned this place into a killbox Rally Point Beta has more cannons and a full compliment of barricade officers, so we'll have a chance to draw Caranthyr into a trap of our own!”

The tech scowled, but nodded and said, “Aye, sir.”

Brianna glanced back at the firing line, which was quickly breaking up into scattered groups of retreating troopers. She pounded a fist against Vhetin's shoulder pad and pointed. “They're breaking through!”

He nodded. “Take as many people as you can and slow them down. Give the bulk of our troopers time to escape. The cannon techs will give you cover!”

“What about you?”

“I've got to contact Ruusan, tell her what's going on,” he explained. “I'll be right here.”

She nodded and reloaded her rifle. “Don't leave without us.”

“I'd never dream of it.”

She nodded, then raised her fist and shouted, “I need backup! Who wants to cheat death with me?”

Like Vhetin, Brianna knew exactly how dangerous her task would be: take a small team against all of Caranthyr's remaining men. Under other circumstances, it could be considered a suicide mission. But this was Brianna, and if anyone could make it through unscathed it was her.

A small group of maybe five people flocked to her and they quickly took position behind what little cover remained. They began firing at the collared Mandalorians that had managed to make it over the barricades. Vhetin was confident they'd be able to stem the flow of Caranthyr's mindless soldiers long enough to give the others time to escape.

He quickly dialed out Ruusan's comm code, rifle clutched so tightly his hands were shaking. Thankfully, the woman picked up after a single tone.

“Vhetin,” the she said. “Go for secure.”

Vhetin had to shout to be heard over the din of the firefight. “We're being pushed back! We need our reinforcements waiting for us at Rally Point Beta!”

“Copy,” she said. “What about Caranthyr?”

“He's a no-show!” Vhetin shouted, watching Brianna pick off targets with swift and focused precision. But she and her team could only accomplish so much. Caranthyr's men were still advancing, faster now than ever before. Brianna and her team . “Ruusan, we need those reinforcements. We're abandoning the F.O.B.”

“Got it,” the Trainee said. “They'll be waiting at the Rally Point. Get you and your troops there safely.”

“I will.” Vhetin turned to find Janada and a small knot of troopers still trying to hold back the enemy team trying to flank them. The steady pounding of the Canderous cannon was carving through the enemy soldiers, sending them flying.

“Janada!” he shouted. “Retreat to Rally Point Beta!”

If she heard him, she didn't acknowledge it. She was too focused on the collared Mandalorians on the other side of the barricade. She was firing as quickly as she could manage, shouting orders at the two Mandos fighting with her. She was gesturing wildly at something, but he couldn't tell just what. Following her helmeted gaze, Vhetin could see red lights flashing on the bulky shock collars and could just barely hear a steady beeping from the mind-controlled Mandalorians.

_No_, he thought, his blood chilling to ice in his veins. _No, Caranthyr wouldn't risk that. He wouldn't..._

He had to move fast. If Caranthyr blew the collars, there was a chance the sewer system would collapse on top of them. He couldn't let that happen. He spun back to Brianna, whose position was almost overrun by Caranthyr's collared Mandos. He sprinted toward her as fast as his legs could carry him. The collars of these Mandalorians were also flashing, signalling immanent detonation.

“_Brianna_!” he shouted. “_Get back_!”

She spun toward him, meeting his gaze for a split second before she was thrown into silhouette by an eruption of blinding white light. A concussive shockwave hit Vhetin in the chest, blasting him off his feet. Seconds later, a wave of glowing red-orange flame roared out from the the light, enveloping Caranthyr's collared Mandalorians, the barricade defenses, and Brianna.

Vhetin landed hard on his back, his head colliding against the back of his helmet hard enough to make him see stars. He heard a deafening series of cracks from the ceiling, and a deep rumbling like the death drums of the Old Mandalorians. Then the fire washed over him too.


	15. Uprising

**MandalMotors Complex, Keldabe City Center**

“..and I can assure you,” Shysa said, “that you have nothin' to fear from Coro Caranthyr or the buggers who've decided to work with him. Terrorists only win when their targets allow 'em to.”

He looked out over the assembled crowd and took a deep breath. “It doesn't bring me any great pleausre to part with this information. I don't like Mandos killing other Mandos. It undermines everything that makes our culture great.”

He glanced at Dala, who nodded in encouragement. He nodded back, a grim set to his jaw as he turned back to the crowd of spectators and reporters. “We've received intel that Caranthyr's next target is me. They want to kill me because they think I haven't done enough to protect and maintain Mandalore and its people.”

He folded his arms across his armored chest. “But I'm not afraid of Caranthyr or his boys. I know what this man is capable of, and I know that he has plans to off me. But I'm standing here telling you all that _I'm not afraid of him_. I won't apologize for the things I've done as your _Mand'alor_, and I won't step down or exile myself just because a group of madmen want me to. That is not the Mandalorian way. It's not the Mandalorian way to bow and scrape to the whims of outsiders, and make no mistake: after the deeds Caranthyr and his men have committed, they are outsiders.”

He narrowed his eyes, looking out across the assembled crowd with a dark look. “By the powers granted to me by the people of Mandalore and by my right as _Mand'alor_ of this world, I hereby brand Coro Caranthyr and all who willingly follow him as _dar'manda_ outlaws. All their rights as Mandalorians are hereby revoked and if they are discovered in Mandalorian space they will immediately be interrogated, tried before the Council of Elders, and sentenced to death.”

Cheers and applause broke out as his speech continued, the Mandalorians present heartily agreeing with their leader's words. Jay, standing to Shysa's right, kept half an ear on the proceedings, focusing on the crowd. She didn't put it past Caranthyr to set up a sniper from afar or more of his suicide bombers in the crowd.

She brushed her hand's-free comm and murmured, “Everything good?”

“For now,” the Handmaiden reported. She was stationed with the enforcement office sniper team on a building not far away. “We have checkpoints set up at all the primary entrances to the innermost ring of the city. We have received word that the Mandalorians have been engaged in the sewers, but have suffered casualties and are falling back.”

“Casualties?” Jay echoed, her heart fluttering in worry. “How many?”

“Substantial,” was all the Handmaiden would say. “Cin Vhetin did not give specifics.”

Jay took a deep breath to steady her pounding heart. “Well if they're falling back to the second rally point, they'll have reinforcements and the barricade squad watching their backs.”

“They did report that there was no sign of the brute, D'harhan.”

“You sound a little too pleased about that.”

There was a soft chuckle from the other end of the comm line. “Caranthyr would be a fool to forgo using the deadliest weapon at his disposal. If the brute is not engaging Cin Vhetin and the Mandalorians in the sewer, it is inevitable he will show himself here.”

“Don't think like that,” Jay said. “We don't want him showing up, remember? We can't take him face-to-face.”

“Speak for your self, Moqena,” the Echani hissed. “You may be hesitant to face the alien, but I am eager to prove my skills in battle against him.”

“We're trying to minimize casualties, Les,” Jay sighed, glancing at Shysa. He was continuing his speech, having moved on now to something about Mandalorian unity through trust and brotherhood. On normal circumstances she would have been fascinated to listen in, but she didn't have the luxury of relaxing at the moment. “I don't want you rushing headlong into a battle we can easily avoid.”

“If any of your Mandalorian compatriots-”

“Yeah, well I'm _not_ Mandalorian,” Jay snapped. When her retort was met only with silence, she shook her head and sighed, rubbing her eyes wearily. “Look, we've had enough deaths over the course of the last few days already. I want to make sure no one else does and that means I don't want to but lives at risk for no reason. I know you want to test yourself against D'harhan, but if he attacks here, _we can't take him_.”

Still nothing but silence. Jay eventually cursed and said, “All right, how about this? If D'harhan shows his face, if you can get him alone, you can take him. But take him _alive_. I know you want to prove you're the queen of the hill, but he's still a friend.”

She rested her hands on her hips, staring out at the crowd. “Those are my terms, Les. Take them or leave them.”

There was another long pause, then the Hanmaiden murmured, “Deal. I do not need to kill him to prove my superiority.”

“Good. Keep me informed about the fight in the sewers. My boyfriend and two of my best friends are down there.”

“I will.”

“Moqena out.” Jay signed off, then folded her arms worriedly. If Vhetin was being pushed back , Caranthyr's forces must be stronger than they originally thought. Despite her partner's nervousness, he'd had a good plan set in place. It worried her that he'd been beaten back so quickly.

She clenched her fists. _Pull yourself goether, Jay. Vhetin's got the full force of the barricade squad and the best tech MandalMotors has to offer to help him through this. He'll pull through. Vhetin, Denton, Brianna, all of them._

“But the only way to stop men like Caranthyr,” Shysa was saying, “is not to hunt him down, kill him, and make him a martyr. We need to expose him, to show that he has no power over us. And to do that, we need to stand strong, united, and not show fear.”

He folded his arms, a scowl drawing his face down. “Caranthyr's the worst scum Keldabe's seen in a long time. But he can't hop to stand against the best Mandalore has to offer. Not today, not tomorrow, not _ever_.”

He stopped and took a long breath. When he spoke again his voice was tight, like he was struggling to speak. “We _Mando'ade_... we're _better_ than this. Killing our brothers and sisters... that's not our way. Do you really want Caranthyr to show the _aruetiise _that their opinions of us are true? That we really _are _the bloodthirsty fiends they think we are?”

There was a resounding chorus of boos and shouts of _“No!”_ When they spoke, Shysa looked momentarily taken aback, as if he almost didn't expect them to agree. Then a wide smile broke out across his gaunt face and he thrust a fist into the air.

“We are _Mando'ade_!” he roared. “And we will overcome this! _Kote par Manda'yaim bal parjai par Mando'ade an!”_

The crowd mirrored his action, raising their fists and shouting the words back to him, in _Mando'a_ and Basic. “_Glory for Mandalore and victory for Mandalorians all_!”

Jay scanned the crowd one last time, feeling herself relax. The press conference was almost over. Now all that was left was to let Shysa answer questions from the HoloNet reporters, and they could spirit him away from the crowd and any potential assassins lurking within.

As the onlookers began to calm down, Shysa grasped the edges of the stand where he was speaking and said, “All right then. Any of you have questions 'fore we call it a day?”

Jay triggered her comm again. “Report.”

“_Strange..._” the Handmaiden murmured, “_the conference is almost finished, yet we have seen nothing of our assassins. Are you sure Caranthyr was planning to attack?”_

“I don't know,” Jay admitted, glancing over at the other Mandalorian and _aruetii _auxiliaries guarding the Mandalore. “It was our best guess. Is there any city-wide chatter that sounds bad?”

“_Nothing that we can hear_,” came the quiet response. “_Beyond the firefight in the sewers, there doesn't appear to be anything happening. It is almost as if Caranthyr has vanished. Cin Vhetin has reported that they have not discovered any of his troops in the sewers; only collared slaves at the end of Caranthyr's leash.”_

Jay shook her head. “I don't like this. Keep your eyes open.”

“_As was my plan all along_.”

_Damn it,_ she thought, narrowing her eyes at the crowd. _Caranthyr... what are you planning?_

Tobbi Dala, standing not far from her, seemed to be having the same reservations. He shifted uncomfortably and hissed, “Feel that?”

She glanced over at him. “What?”

“That tenseness. How the air seems to tingle.”

Jay was indeed feeling it; she had been for some time now. It wracked her nerves and sent shivers down her spine. It was almost as if there was pressure building in the air around them, just waiting for the slightest provocation to erupt. She shuddered again, feeling goosebumps break out across her arms. “I feel it. Like the air just before a thunderstorm.”

“Aye,” Dala growled. “Calm before the storm. Something's about to go down. Be ready.”

Jay tensed. She didn't like the firm set of Dala's jaw, the way his hands anxiously gripped his rifle, the way he was bending his knees slightly as if waiting to spring into action. She triggered her comm a third time and said, “You're sure you don't have anything? We're getting some bad vibes from down here.”

“_Nothing,”_ the Handmaiden replied, a hint of irritation slicing through her voice. “_There is no sign of... wait...”_

Jay's heart plummetted. “What? What is it?”

“_There is an inbound aircraft heading for this position,”_ the Handmaiden reported tersely. “_The enforcement office strictly stated that all travel over MandalMotors airspace was restricted until after the conference. Fighters are inbound to investigate._”

Jay glanced over at Dala, who had picked up the conversation. He nodded to Jay, shouldering his rifle in preparation. Jay did the same, trying to ignore just how much her hands were shaking. _This isn't any different from a hunting contract_, she told herself. _Just find and catch the bad guy. And don't let him kill the mercenary chieftan you've been hired to protect._

As the seconds ticked by, she found herself praying that the aircraft had just accidentally wandered into Mandalorian space. Maybe it was a freighter looking for the spaceport, or a fighter with a damaged engine capacitor that had drifted off cource, or-

The Handmaiden's voice cut through all enforcement office channels. “_The unidentified aircraft has engaged the fighters sent to investigate. The pilots report their ships destroyed, but they themselves ejected in time.”_

“Okay!” Dala said, rotating his hand in a circle through the air to signal his troops to form up. “You all know the drill! Fan out, get the crowd out of the area, and batten down the hatches for hard contact.”

He stepped up next to Shysa, grabbed his arm, and said, “Time to go, Fenn.”

But Shysa yanked his arm free and said, “No. If I run now, I'll just confirm everythin' Caranthyr and his lads have been sayin' about me. I'm not gonna let that happen.”

“Fenn, this is _not the time..”_

Shysa yanked his arm away and drew the longsaber from his back, hoisting it into the air. “Caranthyr and his men are on their way, boys!” he shouted to the crowd. “If you call yourselves true warriors, stand and fight with me!”

Mandalorians throughout the crowd, and a few select _aruetiise_, immediately drew their weapons and thrust them above their heads, letting out a collective roar of defiance. The children, elderly, and reporters in the crowd quickly hurried away, trying to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the impending fight. Dala scowled as he watched them go, but didn't push the issue with the _Mand'alor_. Jay, however, was not so willing to let all their plans regarding Shysa's protection hang on the outcome of a firefight.

“Mandalore,” she said, “we don't know what Caranthyr's capable of. Now isn't the time for the _stand-and-fight-or-die-trying_ attitude. You're too important to lose.”

Shysa's gaunt face pulled down in a scowl. “Lass, I appreciate the concern, but I'm not going to run from this bastard. He's been eggin' us on from the start, lookin' for a fight. He found it.”

“But...”

She trailed off as she heard something over the chatter of the crowd. It was a heavy mechanical warble carrying over the air, like a mixture between a deep bird's call and a speeder with dirt caught in the combustion manifold.

Growing up with a fascination for the Clone Wars, Jay instantly recognized the sound, and jumped into action before her mind could catch up to her.

“Gunship!” she shouted, and tackled Shysa to the side of the stage.

Not a moment too soon, either. Seconds later, the familiar graceful curvature of a Clone Wars-era Laati/i gunship burst over a nearby rooftop and immediately opened fire at the crowd with concentrated bursts from its swivel-mounted pod turrets. Bright green beams slashed down into the crowd, creating tiny eruptions of superheated dirt and rock that sent Mandalorians flying.

“Echani!” Dala roared. “Take out the gunship!”

“_The snipers do not have a clear shot!”_ the Handmaiden shot back. “_The ship is moving too quickly._”

“Stay down!” Jay shouted, shoving Shysa toward the rear of the stage. The gunship was hovering over the area, opening up at the crowd with both pod turrets and the blaster cannons mounted to the front of the ship. The ship operators weren't even aiming for anyone in particular. They were just sweeping the crowd, trying to keep them busy.

Jay quickly saw why; pouring out from the side-streets were numerous other Mandalorians dressed in a multitude of armor colors and all sporting weapons. They sprinted into the fray, opening up without provocation in the crowd.

“_The snipers can handle themselves,_” the Handmaiden said. “_I am on my way down to the battlefield._”

“No!” Dala shouted as he fired at the gunship hovering above them. His blaster bolts ricocheted harmlessly off the underbelly of the ship, leaving little more than scorch marks against the battered metal. “Stay with the snipers! We need an-”

“_My talents are wasted overseeing a collection of perfectly capable snipers. I am a _melee_ fighter. You need me on the front lines_.”

Dala cursed and shouted, “Fine! Get down here and crack some skulls. Don't make me regret it.”

“_On my way.”_

Jay spotted the distant figure of the Handmaiden as she leaped off the roof and plummetted to the ground far below. She landed hard and rolled to shed excess momentum, drawing her quarterstaff as she sprinted for one of the nearest hostile Mandalorians. She leaped into the air, driving the staff hard into a vulnerable spot just behind the man's jaw. The man crumpled wordlessly, instantly unconscious. The Handmaiden landed and spun in a circle, catching another opponent with the heel of her boot and sending him flying off his feet.

Jay raised her rifle and sighted in on a Mandalorian trying to storm up the stairs toward her location. She pumped at least ten stun rounds into his chest and watched him tumble backwards back down the stairs. She felt Shysa try to rise, but she shoved him back down onto his knees behind her. “No!” she shouted. “They're after you! Stay down and let us handle this!”

“I can handle myself, lass!” Shysa shouted back.

“I don't doubt it!” She fired at another Mandalorian who had decided to forgo the stairs and clamber up onto the stage directly. She hit him point-blank in the helmet faceplate with a stun round, sending him flying back into the crowd. It wouldn't put him down permanently, but it would be a minute before he'd be back on his feet again. “But if you're taken down by a lucky potshot, how does that affect Mandalore? You think Caranthyr will just stop?”

Shysa was silent for a few moments as Jay fired at advancing hostiles. She dropped one, two, then three Mandalorians that were rushing her position. She switched to a more stable kneeling position, switching to picking off targets fighting in the chaotic battlefield in front of them.

“All right,” the _Mand'alor_ finally said. “I'll stay down. For now.”

“Good,” Jay said. “Just stay safe. You're no good to us dead.”

~~~~~~~~

**Keldabe Sewers**

Vhetin's ears were ringing, a shrill buzz just behind his eyes that made his temples throb. He grimaced and tried to put a hand to his aching forehead, but found he couldn't move. He opened his eyes, to be met with pitch-blackness. He cursed and blinked slowly, ignoring the coppery taste of blood in his mouth.

Slowly, everything began seeping back: the fight in the sewers, the appearance of Caranthyr's suicide bombers, the explosion that had brought huge chunks of duracrete ceiling crashing down on him...

Thankfully, his new armor seemed to have saved him from the worst injuries. He was scraped and bruised, but it didn't feel like anything was broken, and the rubble had done little other than pin him in place. He was far from dead, and after a few hours a headache would probably be the worst injury facing him.

He grunted as he tried to writhe free of the heavy duracrete all around him. He could wiggle his right arm a little, but not much else. He cursed and tried to dial out a comm number, with no luck; his helmet's comm unit had been damaged when the tunnel had collapsed on him.

He cursed again and thought about activating his helmet's external comm, calling out to someone beyond the cave-in. But he quickly decided it was too dangerous; Caranthyr's men were still out there somewhere, and the enforcement office had fallen back to Rally Point Beta. That meant he was officially in enemy territory now.

He shifted as best he could, trying to wriggle his arm free. He could feel the heavy duracrete chunks shifting, but it would take more than even his considerable strength to move them completely. He eventually gave up, collapsing back against the rocks and trying to collect his thoughts.

Even if he was trapped, the majority of the enforcement officers had already retreated. In the grand scheme of the battle, there were still more than enough troops standing at the ready to keep Caranthyr at bay. The only people who had still been present at the battlefield at the time of the cave-in had been himself, a few scattered troopers, the last cannon turret team, Janada, and Brianna.

Of the group, he was most worried about Brianna. She wasn't wearing _beskar'gam_, and if she'd been similarly pinned by falling debris, she may have been severely injured. He had to get free and find her.

He froze still as he heard muffled voices not far away, from the other side of the rock. He turned him his helmet's audio receptors, focusing on the voices as they neared his position.

"Any of the _di'kut'e_ left?" one voice drawled.

"Nah, looks like the collar-brains got 'em all. Brought down the tunnel roof in the explosion. Ain't no one survivin' that kind of trauma."

"Still, probably good to look for any survivors. The Boss won't want anyone slippin' past into the base."

"Coro won't know we didn't finish the patrol," the other voice said. "We just tell him everyone's dead. It's not like there's gonna be some big offensive after that explosion. The enforcement office is retreatin' as we speak."

Vhetin's helmet scanners picked up three contact silhouettes outside the area of the cave-in: two figures in what looked like Mandalorian armor, and a four-legged predatory animal that looked like a Kath Hound. He liked his chances against the group, so he redoubled his efforts to dislodge the duracrete around him. He triggered his external helmet comm and shouted, "Hey! Somebody! Anybody!"

The figures stopped. "You hear that? Sounds like we got a survivor after all."

"I need help," Vhetin shouted, adding a note of desperation to his voice. "Get me out of here!"

"Hold on!" one of the men outside shouted. "We're comin' for you."

"Thank _te Manda_," Vhetin said. "Are you with the enforcement office?"

"Uh... yeah, yeah we are," one of the voice said. Vhetin could hear duracrete crunching and scraping from the outside; they were digging him out. "Just hang on, _vod_, and we'll get you out of there."

The two men set about moving the massive slabs of rock that pinned him. It was about five minutes before a brilliant shaft of blinding white light broke through the darkness. Vhetin's helmet visor immediately tinted to protect his vission, offering him a glimpse of a man in camouflage-patterned armor. The man nodded to him and said, "Almost there. Hold on."

The two pushed a few more chunks of rubble away, finally freeing Vhetin's arms and legs. The camo-patterned man offered him a hand. Vhetin accepted, letting the man drag him out of the pile.

He didn't give the two time to jump him. In a single smooth motion he ejected both of his gauntlet-mounted shortswords, stabbing the first man in the chest. The blades easily slipped past armor plating and pierced his abdomen, spraying blood as the man screamed. Vhetin silenced the man with a twist of the blades and tossed him aside.

The Kath Hound jumped next, leaping at him with a vicious snarl. But Vhetin slammed it to the ground with a powerful kick and followed up with a lethal stab to the neck; quick and painless. The creature was dead in moments.

The third and final man had finally had time to raise his weapon and fire, but the bolt harmlessly popped against Vhetin's chest plate. Limping only slightly, Vhetin rushed the man and sliced down, knocking the rifle from his hands. The man tried to raise his wrist-mounted rocket launcher, but Vhetin knocked his arm away and the rocket fired prematurely, exploding against the tunnel wall some distance away.

Vhetin quickly incapacitated the man with a powerful punch to the underarm followed by a quick chop to the throat. As the man staggered, Vhetin hooked his foot behind the man's ankle and pulled, knocking the man off his feet and sending him crashing to the dirty, scorched ground.

Vhetin considered another killing blow. But a prisoner was more useful than a corpse, so he quickly pulled the man's helmet off, cutting him off from any nearby reinforcements, and bound his arms and legs with a length of whipcord. Once sure the man wasn't going to be escaping, he propped the prisoner up against the wall of the tunnel and held the blade of one gauntlet sword in front of the man's face.

"Any sudden moves," Vhetin hissed, "and I bury this in your forehead. Clear?"

The man gulped and nodded quickly. Vhetin nodded back and retracted the blade, letting it slide back into the housing of his armored gauntlet with a menacing rasp of metal against metal. He quickly turned back to the massive pile of duracrete that had crashed down from the ceiling and buried him.

The entire section of the tunnel had caved in, effectively cutting him off from reaching the nearest rally point. A huge cascade of man-sized chunks of duracrete blocked his escape, with tinier chunks still shaking loose and clattering down the pile. A solid wall of at least four meters of duracrete now separated him from the rest of the enforcement officers.

"You there," Vhetin said, glancing back at his captive prisoner. "You were looking for survivors. Did you find any others?"

The man shook his head with a grimace. "You... you were the first. Shoulda left you in that damn deathtrap."

Vhetin cursed and turned back to the cave-in, pulling his helmet off and rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. His head was throbbing painfully, but he knew he had to look for anyone who might have made it through the collapse. He couldn't be the only one.

He repalced his helmet and activated the upgraded scanner, setting it to pick out heat spikes that could be created by living bodies. The heat from the explosion had long since faded, and as his HUD lit up in a wild array of blues, oranges, and yellows, he saw that the only obvious heat signatures were from steam ruptures in the pipes above their head.

"Brianna!" he shouted. "Can you hear me?"

Not surprising, there was no response. He increased the sensitivity of the scanner, high enough that it could cut right through the cooling duracrete.

The sight that met him was not a pretty one; there were at least twelve bodies buried under the rubble, all dead. Buried beneath that were more than thirty more bodies, all scorched and twisted from the explosion; the remains of the bombers.

Vhetin's blood ran cold. The odds were not looking good for Brianna. He focused on his scans for survivors and called out again. "Brianna! Janada! Somebody!"

"Give it up, _vod_," his prisoner coughed from behind him. "No one survived that blast. 'Cept you for some reason."

Vhetin glanced back at him and raised his extended gauntlet blade once again. "Keep your mouth shut or you and this _kad_ will get better acquainted. Or did you forget?"

The man quickly fell silent, staring at his boots. Vhetin moved back to the cave in and continued calling out for survivors. For about five minutes, there was still no response. Then, after he began shifting heavy slabs of duracrete, he heard a weak tapping from under the stones, like metal scraping against the duracrete.

Vhetin's scanners picked out a body, pinned by the duracrete near the edge of the tunnel. Skeletal structure suggested the body was female, and that the woman was alive. He redoubled his efforts, activating his lightsaber pike and using the blade to carve through a heavy chunk of duracrete. The two halves clattered away, leaving him enough room to hoist a huge piece of rubble away.

"Brianna!" he said, reaching out to grab her outstretched arm. She winced as he hauled her out, slinging her arm around his shoulders. "Easy there. I've got you."

She coughed, holding her side. Her face was covered in dirt and blood and her arms were covered in scratches and bruises. She didn't look seriously hurt, though. He propped her up against the tunnel wall, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right?"

She nodded silently, coughing and rubbing her eyes. She waved him off and managed to croak out, "Look for others... I'll be fine."

It didn't take long for him to find more survivors. There weren't many, only about three or four. Vhetin tried his best to look for Janada, but she had been standing further away. If she had survived, it was up to someone on the other side of the cave-in to dig her out.

_I hope you're okay, _vod_, _he thought. _But it's out of my hands. I'm sorry._

He hurried back to the survivors: three men and a woman, with Brianna and his prisoner making six. They were a rag-tag group, but they'd have to do. The majority of the Mandalorians didn't seem too banged up, and Brianna and one unarmored Mando man seemed to be in the worst shape. But they were quickly recovering; Brianna was already on her feet, giving the others some rudimentary medical care from what was left of their pooled med kits.

"Better?" she asked, touching a Mando woman on the shoulder. Her battered gold armor signified her as an enforcement officer, not one of the auxiliaries. The woman nodded and Brianna smiled in encouragement, then turned to face Vhetin as they approached. "Thanks for getting us all out of there."

He nodded, then pulled her into a hug. She was a little stiff at first, then she hugged him back. As they drew apart again, he said, "You really had a doubt?"

She shrugged, then winced and rubbed her shoulder. "For a bit, yeah. It didn't look like any of us were making it out of there."

She looked back at the cave-in and murmured, "A lot of us didn't."

"Eyes forward," he reminded her. "We still have a long way to go."

"So you have a plan?"

"I wouldn't use that word," Vhetin said, turning toward the rest of the group. "But I have an idea."

Five minutes later and everyone in the group, including Caranthyr's man, were staring at him like he was insane.

"That is the single stupidest idea I've ever heard," one of the Mandalorians, a man named Yiikish, growled as he shook his head.

"It's suicide," said Dalia, the other Mandalorian woman. "I'd have to be an idiot to go along with this."

"What other options do we have?" Vhetin said. "We're here, cut off from the rest of our forces. Caranthyr's men are preoccupied with the enforcement office and won't be expecting a strike force to hit them where they're vulnerable."

"Need I remind you," Yiikish said, gesturing to the cave-in, "that your sister was the one who was supposed to lure that D'harhan bugger out of our way and _she_ is on the other side of _that_?"

"We'll have to make due," said Taro, the other Mandalorian man. "Vhetin's right; we're all we've got. If we can get at Caranthyr here and now, all of this ends with no more bloodshed."

Brianna rested her hands on her hips and said, "So do you still have a link to the TeamCOMM channel? Can we get directions from Denton and the others?"

Vhetin shook his head. "My transmitter was damaged during the cave-in. Anyone else have a working comm?"

Taro raised his hand, then winced and rubbed his shoulder. "It's spotty, but I've got a link. I've been trying to reach Officer Dral for the past few minutes, but no one is answering."

"Keep trying," Vhetin said. "In the meantime, Caranthyr's base is down this tunnel. If we're going to infiltrate, that's the way to go."

Their tiny group looked down the foreboding tunnel, but didn't move. It wasn't until Brianna sighed and drew her twin pistols that they slowly began rising to their feet and checking their weapons. Vhetin stepped up next to her and folded his arms. His Death Watch prisoner skulked in the shadows behind them, listening intently. She glanced at the man, then muttered, "You sure about this?"

"No," Vhetin said. "But we don't have any other choice. Caranthyr won't be expecting an attack like this. Our window of opportunity is slim and we need to move now if we want to take advantage of it."

The Death Watch prisoner drifted closer, arms still cuffed. “You'll never win. Caranthyr's too smart for you.”

“I'll take my chances,” Vhetin said dismissively. “Stay back and shut up and maybe I'll think about turning you over to the enforcement office rather than killing you myself.”

The man scowled, but fell silent. Vhetin glanced at him, then turned back to Brianna and said, “We really don't have a choice, Brianna. The only way out is forward.”

"Well," she sighed. "I guess that makes it simple then."

She glanced over her shoulder, back down the tunnel where they had come from. "You think Janada's okay?"

Vhetin nodded immediately. "If we made it through, she can as well. I'm sure she's regrouped with the rest of the enforcement officers and is more pissed than ever."

“She's dead,” Vhetin's Death Watch prisoner muttered. “Probably crushed to jelly under that cave-in, like you all should have been.”

Vhetin silenced him with a sharp punch to the throat. The man sputtered and fell to the ground, where Vhetin followed up with a devastating kick to the face that instantly knocked him unconscious.

Brianna stared at him with a frown. “Was that really necessary?”

“No,” Vhetin said, rubbing his knuckles. “But it was satisfying. And we can't trust him to keep our location a secret. Better to leave him here to be picked up by the enforcement office next time they pass by.”

“If you say so,” Brianna said. “Come on. No time to waste.”

~~~~~~~~

**Keldabe Sewers**

Janada yanked herself free of the rocks with an enraged shout of, “That son of a _bitch!_”

One of her fireteam members held out a rifle and said, “Nice to see you in the land of the living, _vod_.”

Janada shook duracrete dust off her shoulders and glanced back at the cave-in. The ceiling of the tunnel had collapsed from the concussive blast of Caranthyr's suicide bombers. An impassible wall of broken rubble now separated them from the changeling's base.

“Kriff!” Janada shouted, kicking the rubble wall hard enough that several large chunks of rock came tumbling down from the ceiling. “Now how are we going to get through?”

“There are side-tunnels,” someone said. “We could work our way around...”

“We don't have the time!” Janada snapped, turning back to them. She pointed to the cave-in. “Somewhere under that pile of shit, my brother is trapped under _te Manda_-knows how many tons of duracrete! He could be dying!”

“So what do you propose?” a battered _aruetii_ auxiliary muttered. “Picking apart the rubble ourselves?”

Janada shook her head. She knew they didn't have time to pick through the entire cave-in to find survivors, and she knew that the actual chance of her brother making it through the explosion alive was already slim to none. He and Brianna had been far closer to the source of the explosion than she had been and it had still taken her over fifteen minutes to wriggle free of the rubble that had pinned her.

She looked down at her boots, clenching her fists and thinking, _I'm sorry bro. I hope you got your ass out of there. But there's nothing I can do from my end. See you on the other side._

Then she spun back to what remained of her team and gestured down the hall. “Let's get moving. Caranthyr's boys are probably heading for Rally Point Beta. If that's true, Denton and the others will need all the guns they can get.”

“What about your brother?” one of the Mandos said. “What if there are more survivors?”

Janada shook her head. “We were the closest to this side. Anyone else would have been buried under the cave-in or they'd be stuck on the other end. If there were survivors, they're beyond our help. Come on. We've got a lot of ground to cover if we want to get back in time for the fun.”

She gestured down the tunnel and they set of toward the second rally point.

~~~~~~~~

**Rally Point Beta**

“Barricades!” Denton roared. At his command, six tall and burly enforcement officers charged forward, into the fray. They slammed their huge rectangular shields against the ground, forming a protective wall that shielded the enforcement officers from Caranthyr's men. Unlike the attack on Rally Point Alpha, the troops that were attacking Beta wore no collars and were all outfitted with true Mandalorian _beskar_. As a result, they were much harder to bring down, and even the barricade troops were having trouble holding them back. One enemy rushed the front lines just in time to be knocked back by a massive blow from Earthquake, one of the barricade troopers.

Denton shook his head as he fired off quick, precise shots from his sidearm. His rifle had long since run out of ammunition and there hadn't been time to reload. “We're holding!” he shouted into his comm, struggling to be heard over the din of combat. “But just barely! We're still cut off from a sizable group of men from Rally Point Alpha, Vhetin included. Attempts to regain contact have all failed. At this point, it's safe to say they aren't coming.”

“_Do you think they're dead?”_

Denton shook his head, ducking a stray shot and firing back at the culprit. A Mandalorian in multi-colored red-yellow-blue armor collapsed to the floor, stunned but alive. “Dunno. But they aren't giving us fire support, so they're out of the equation.”

“_Copy. I'll relay the bad news. Keep alive down there._”

“Aye,” Denton said. “We'll try. Kick Caranthyr in the balls once for us, yeah?”

“_Copy. Ruusan out.”_

Denton signed off the comm line and shouted, “Barricades! Forward!”

“Oya!” came the dutiful response. Twelve bulky barricade officers grasped their rectangular riot shields tightly and began a slow approach toward Caranthyr's forces, letting out a rhythmic chant of, “_Kar'ta... kar'ta... kar'ta...”_

With a tremendous clamor of metal, armor, and blaster bolts, the barricade line smashed into the first unlucky troops in Caranthyr's line. Like the mountain-dwelling Berserkers, the barricade troopers used their shields as both protection and weapons. They hammered at their enemies with the sharpened edges of their shields, knocking them bodily off their feet with well-placed blows, or simply just shoved at their opponents with all their might, clearing a path for the rest of the enforcement office troopers to advance.

Denton circled his hand in the air. “Turrets! Get to work!”

MandalMotors technicians scurried into the fray, using the new space to quickly set up the Canderous turrets, bolting down tripods and erecting hasty barricades to protect from potential grenade fire. The red-suited mechanics moved with precision and skill that only years of practice – and a healthy dose of adrenaline – could provide. Within minutes, the turrets were almost ready to fire.

Earthquake, the new barricade squad leader after Gundark's demise that afternoon, roared out a command to his men. The barricade troopers formed a solid wall of _beskar_ with their shields, overlapping the edges to ensure no stray blaster shots got through. At another shout from their coordinator, they began to push, shoving Caranthyr's men back down the tunnel from which they had initially swarmed. Denton watched carefully, waiting for the right moment to signal them. His timing would have to be perfect.

“Turrets are hot, sir!” one of the MandalMotors technicians shouted. “Waiting on your word!”

Denton nodded, narrowing his eyes. His HUD told him there were almost thirty men massed in the tunnel beyond.

His HUD picked up a handful of new contacts to his flank. He spun, leveling his pistol before noticing they were friendlies. The familiar scarlet-black colorations of Clan Bralor flashed across the field as Janada drew her longdaggers and threw herself into battle. The rest of her battered, rag-tag group joined the enforcement officers, catching their breath. Denton made sure the barricade line was holding, despite Janada's furious attempts to crawl past the officers there and force her way into combat. Once convinced they had matters under control, at least at the moment, he jogged over to the other troopers and said, “Sitrep. You guys okay?”

One yellow-armored man, his armor battered and covered in dust and blood, nodded as he caught his breath. “We're fine, sir.”

“What about the rest of the reserves at Rally Point Alpha?”

The man shook his head. “No go. Caranthyr used a force of suicide bombers. You must have heard the explosion, even from here.”

Denton nodded. The detonation had shook tiles loose from the ceiling and made the ground rumble under their feet. He could only imagine the damage at Rally Point Alpha.”

“The explosion brought the tunnel roof down on top of us,” another survivor pitched in. She rubbed her bleeding forehead and said, “Buried everyone still standing at Rally Point Alpha. Our guys and Caranthyr's slaves alike.”

“What about Vhetin? Your team leader? Did he make it out?”

She shook her head. “He and his girlfriend were standing closest to the explosion. Got caught by the full force of the blast. Even if they survived that, the tunnel would have collapsed on top of them.”

Denton sighed and closed his eyes. He didn't want the news to be true, but the odds were definitely not in Vhetin and Brianna's favor. He eventually shook his head and said, “I won't write those two off until I see a body, but even if they're alive they can't help us here. You guys think you can lend a hand?”

The yellow-armored man thumped a fist against his chest plates. “Aye, sir. Just give me a gun.”

Denton nodded. “That's what I like to hear. The barricades – and Janada, apparently – are going to hold back Caranthyr's forces as long as possible. When they finally break, we're going to cut them down with the turrets. Hopefully that'll break them and give us a breather. So regroup with the other officers and prepare for the last push.”

He took a moment to reload his rifle and shouldered the weapon. He raised a fist, calling for attention, and shouted, “_Mando'ade!_ This is it! Check your targets, make sure your weapons are loaded, and make sure to drop as many of these bastards as you can! If we push them back here, we'll have an opportunity to take a side-tunnel straight to the main gates of Caranthyr's base. _Oya!”_

A resounding, “_Oya_!” met his words and he nodded in satisfaction. He took a place behind a barricade near one of the Canderous turrets, sighting down his rifle. “Barricades!” he shouted. They halted their advance, holding their opponents at bay. Janada reluctantly stopped her attack as well, prowling back and forth behind the barricade line.

Denton let Caranthyr's forces shove ineffectively at the shield wall penning them in, then shouted, “_Break_!”

As one, the barricades broke formation and fell back. Janada, more than happy to have the bulky barricade troopers out of her way, instantly threw herself into battle. Caranthyr's forces, all armed with heavy combat rifles and other firearms, were ill-prepared to deal with a melee fighter in their midst. Janada's longdaggers quickly carved a bloody swathe through her enemies as she hacked and slashed and stabbed as quickly as she could. Her daggers flashed and blood sprayed everywhere, splattering the walls and the armor of other opponents.

“Janada!” Denton shouted. “Fall back! Give the Canderous techs room!”

The red-armored woman drove both daggers through an opponent's neck, then nodded and sprinted back, out of the way. A few stray blaster bolts hit her back plate, burning holes in her blue-black cape, but she made it to cover with plenty of time to spare. As soon as she was free, Denton pointed at Caranthyr's forces and roared, “_Fire!”_

With a deafening _boom_, the Canderous tanks lit the dark tunnel with plumes of white-hot fire. Heavy projectile rounds roared out and tore through the enemy forces at the end of the tunnel. The crash of falling, armored bodies and the screams of wounded men and women filled the tunnel, Denton narrowed his eyes, then pointed forward and shouted, “Everyone! Open fire!”

Multi-colored blaster fire now lit the darkness along with the Canderous turrets. Denton's HUD shifted contrast to pick out enemy targets, allowing him to squeeze off precise, lethal shots that felled any enemy that was unlucky enough to find themselves in his sights.

Janada dropped into position next to him, having snatched a rifle from the weapon rack behind them. Her bloodstained longdaggers were once again sheathed behind her back. She let out a muttered curse in _Mando'a_ and snapped, “Great day for a firefight, eh?”

“Is there such thing as a good day for a firefight?”

Janada growled deep in her throat and snapped off a quick, three-round burst of blaster fire.“I'm just an engineer. We don't see many firefights. So any day is a good day for me.”

“Is what they say about Rally Point Alpha true? What happened down there?”

“It's true,” Janada said, pausing to reload. “Caranthyr detonated all those fancy shock collars of his and brought the ceiling down on top of us.”

“And Vhetin? Brianna?”

Janada silently shook her head. It was all the answer he needed. He sighed and said, “I'm sorry, _vod_.”

“Really? Then kill as many of these sons of bitches as you can. Vhetin and Brianna would want it that way.”


	16. Behind Enemy Lines

**MandalMotors Plaza**

Jay pushed Shysa ahead of herself, making sure they safely but quickly made their way toward the door to the R&D Department. It was the closest exit she could find, and with the gunship still floating overhead and picking off those retreating from the battle, she knew they didn't have much time.

Fighting was still raging beyond the stage where Shysa had been speaking. From this distance, she couldn't pick out friend from foe; it was just a mass of multi-colored armor and weapons thrashing about like the surface of a roiling sea.

“Go!” she shouted, holding her pistol at the ready. “I'm right behind you!”

Shysa nodded and together they sprinted toward the door ahead of them. They didn't make it far before the rattling warble of the LAAT/i gunship drowned out the sounds of the fighting behind them. Jay ducked and covered her head as the ship roared over them, coasting in for a landing that effectively blocked them from the R&D Department.

Shysa held up an arm to block the sand kicked up by the gunship's repulsors, his blond hair kicked up in the downdraft. He squinted through the dust cloud as the panels securing the troop bay slid open, revealing three figures inside.

Jay tensed, gripping her weapon tightly as the three figures strode out, making their way toward them. Two were holding sharp, angular Mandalorian _beskad_ sabers. The third, a skinny man with stringy brown hair, walked forward with a swagger, his hand resting casually on the butt of his holstered pistol.

“Coro Caranthyr,” Shysa said with a growl. “Nice to finally meet you, lad.”

“Likewise, _Mand'alor_,” Caranthyr said, inclining his head. He had a thin, nasaly voice that ground against Jay's nerves. She tensed as Caranthyr spread his arms and took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he did. “Can you smell it, Shysa? The scent of _revolution_ is in the air!”

Shysa hefted his longsword in a close, defensive stance. “Whatever daft revolution you're plannin', it's not gonna get far. I don't intend to let you or any other _dar'manda _bastards take my life today or any day.”

Caranthyr nodded, looking impressed. “Defiant words from a dead man. I almost feel bad for what's going to happen now.”

“_Aruetiise_ have been tryin' to kill me since the Clone Wars, lad,” Shysa snapped. “They've all failed so far. What makes you special?”

“Simple,” Caranthyr said. “You're looking at the only people who specialize in killing _Mand'alor'e_.”

“Oh? And who would that be?”

Caranthyr grinned and snapped his fingers. At his request, the armor coloration of his two guards rippled and shifted to bright oranges and yellows. Caranthyr's own armor also changed to the new coloration and as he replaced his helmet, Jay saw that all three had a dark red swoop symbol on the forehead of their helmets. It reminded her of a ragged bird with wings outstretched. Whatever the symbol was, it certainly had an effect on Shysa. His face went pale and he raised his longsword to shoulder-level, ready for a quick attack.

“So...” he murmured. “That's your big secret, eh? Coro Caranthyr, rogue assassin, murderer, and Death Watch wannabe. Quite a list of credentials, mate.”

Caranthyr rested his hand on the hilt of his own _beskad_. “The Death Watch have been the driving force behind Mandalorian progress for the last generation. I'm proud to count myself among them.”

“You're kiddin' yourself,” Shysa snarled. “The Death Watch have been gone since that idiot Pre got himself killed. Every attempt they tried to take control has ended in nothing but misery, failure, and death. You should work for better role models, _vod_.”

Caranthyr sighed and drew his _beskad_ saber. “I gain no pleasure from regicide. But we both know there's only one way this ends.”

“Aye. So what're you waiting for?”

With a jerk of his head, Caranthyr motioned his guards. They raised their weapons and fell back, opening fire at Shysa and Jay both. Shysa simply shrugged off the fire, letting it explode harmlessly against his chest plates, while Jay had to dive over the edge of the stage and take cover there. When she stood to fire, she saw Shysa sprint for Caranthyr, sword held high.

Caranthyr brought his sword up, turning the longsword's blade away from his body and whirling in a circle, coming around to slash at Shysa's neck. Shysa swung the massive _beskar_ blade up to parry, sending the other blade bouncing away in a shower of sparks.

Jay was yanked back to her own conflict when a blaster bolt carved a chunk out of the wooden stage near her head. She ducked, grimacing against a spray of wood chips. She hesitated for a moment, then raised herself up and unloaded her pistol at the nearest Death Watch trooper. The man shrugged off her bolts and fired back, forcing her back into cover while Shysa and Caranthyr were driven further and further away. In the background, the LAAT/i gunship lifted off in a cloud of dust and smoke, roaring back into the sky to open fire once again at those Mandalorians retreating from the battle in the plaza behind her.

She waited until her opponents stopped to reload, then stood and fired again. _Remember what Denton told you about fighting Mandalorians_, she said, _aim for the neck or underarm._

Her firearms schooling during her military days, enhanced by her rigorous training with Vhetin, had left her with _very_ good aim. She took a deep breath and raised her pistol, sighting in on her first opponent's unarmored throat. She fired twice, just to be sure, and the man crumpled, twitching and holding his bleeding neck. A few moments later, he fell still.

Shysa, meanwhile, was still locked in combat with Caranthyr, trading blows back and forth. He was bleeding from a few shallow wounds to his arms and sides and Jay could see that he was tiring. Caranthyr, by comparison, was just as brutal as ever. Any slash or stab that Shysa successfully managed to land healed within moments. According to Vhetin it was a side-effect of his shape-shifting abilities, and it was making it very difficult for the _Mand'alor_ to defeat the terrorist.

“Give it up, old man!” Caranthyr snapped over the clash of sabers and the snap of blaster fire. “I'm better than you in every way! Stronger, faster, smarter! Everything you say the Mandalorians represent, I _exemplify_!”

“Bullshit!” Shysa roared back, swinging his longsword in a long horizontal arc that, if it hadn't been blocked, would have taken Caranthyr's head off at the shoulders. Caranthyr blocked the swing with his _beskad_ and managed to swing himself under the long blade, evading decapitation by centimeters at most. Shysa advanced, planting his boot in Caranthyr's chest and sending him staggering away. “You want control, nothin' more! You want to do things _your_ way and kill anyone who says otherwise!”

Jay raised her pistol, sighting in on Caranthyr and waiting for an opening. Shysa was advancing, his attacks brutal and ruthless. The _Mand'alor _knew he couldn't outright kill Caranthyr, so he was instead trying to tire him out. From what Jay was able to see, it was working. Caranthyr was obviously finding it harder and harder to turn aside Shysa's massive _beskar _longsword and was now trying to simply dodge the older warrior's attacks.

Jay was about to fire at the terrorist when she felt a heavy hand grab her by the hair and yank her up onto the stage. She screamed in pain, grasping at her assailant's wrist as she was dragged away from cover. Seconds later, the heavy barrel of a blaster pistol was pressed against her temple. Looking up through watering eyes, she saw that she had lost track of Caranthyr's other bodyguard. He'd taken advantage of her distraction and attacked while her attention was focused on the battle between Shysa and Caranthyr.

“_Usen'ye at haran, aruetii shabuir_,” the man growled.

Jay curled herself up and yanked herself free. She felt some of her hair rip free with a sharp stab of pain, but the man's pistol fired a second later, missing her completely. The Death Watch soldier cursed and raised his pistol to fire again.

A second later, a blinding flash of white launched over the lip of the stage and hit him in the side, sending him flying. He crashed to the stage with a resounding clatter of armor plates, like heavy dishes clanking together. The Handmaiden landed gracefully, somersaulting to shed momentum, then pounced before he could rise again. She placed a boot on his chest plates, pinning him to the stage, then crouched low over him, grasped his helmet, and twisted swiftly. Her actions resulted in a sharp _crack _and the man instantly stopped struggling.

Brushing off her gloves, the Handmaiden turned back to Jay and held out a hand. “Are you all right?”

Jay nodded, holding her head. “Yeah... damn. Do I have a bald spot after that? He ripped a chunk of my hair out.”

The Echani narrowed her pale blue eyes, then shook her hooded head. “Not that I can see. But even if so, we have pressing matters to attend to.”

Jay nodded, scooping up her fallen pistol and gesturing to Shysa. “Help him out. I'm right behind you.”

The Handmaiden drew her quarterstaff with a nod and sprinted toward Caranthyr. Jay reloaded her pistol, right behind the white-clad warrior.

~~~~~~~~

**Kedabe Sewer system**

Their progress was slow. Brianna had twisted her ankle when the ceiling collapsed, Taro had suffered from a concussion, and Vhetin's injuries seemed to have triggered a relapse of his pneumonia symptoms. Yiikish and Dalia were the only two that seemed more or less unscathed and were impatient to move forward. But more than once, they had to stop to give Brianna a break or to allow Vhetin to vomit viscous black preservative fluid onto the tunnel floor. He convinced Yiikish, who had the only functional flamethrower, to use the last of his fuel to burn away the sticky substance, leaving no traces.

“We're almost there,” Brianna said as Vhetin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He shakily clambered to his feet and replaced his helmet as the two made their way back to the others. She stared at him worriedly. “Do you think we can make it?”

Vhetin's strength had faded rapidly after they set off. She knew he was trying to put on a strong face for her and the others, but it was obvious he was finding it hard and harder to walk without support. Even now, he was leaning on his saber pike and using it like an old man with a cane. But despite all this he nodded and said, “I'm fine. Just tired. The sooner we end this, the sooner we can all go home.”

Brianna let out a short, sharp chuckle. “Do you think we can do this? Five injured soldiers against all of Caranthyr's men?”

“We have to,” Vhetin sighed. “We... we just have to.”

They emerged back into the main tunnel, where the rest of the group was waiting for them. Brianna jerked her thumb over her shoulder and said, “You're up, Yiikish.”

The man grumbled and stalked off into the darkness, priming his flamethrower. Vhetin moved off to lean against the wall, resting while they could. Brianna hesitated, then leaned against the tunnel wall next to him. She folded her arms across her chest, ignoring the throbbing in her ankle.

“We can do this,” she eventually said. “Even if it's just the five of us.”

“Optimistic,” Vhetin observed, watching Dalia and Taro bicker over their next course of action. “I didn't know you had it in you.”

“Sullen pessimism is your area of expertise, Cin,” she reminded him. “Or did you forget?”

He was about to laugh when they noticed Dalia and Taro tensing and drawing their weapons. Vhetin was on his feet in a moment, grasping his pike with both hands. Brianna drew her pistols and checked the charge. They were fully loaded, but she didn't have much extra ammunition to spare. “What is it?”

Taro moved toward them, shouldering his rifle. “Mo-tracker shows hostile contacts moving in this pisition. Probably a patrol.”

Vhetin nodded, all previous weariness instantly gone. He gestured to the opposite wall and said, “Fan out. We'll catch them with a volley when they're off guard. Dalia, head back and grab Yiikish. We'll need his gun.”

He glanced at Brianna. “Hang back, Bri. We'll take care of this.”

She scowled at him and gestured with her pistols. “Not a chance! You need my guns in this fight. You can't just push me to the back because I fell on my own bloody ankle!”

“Bri-”

“No,” she said, pushing past him and aiming down the tunnel. “I'm staying, and that's final. If anyone should be staying behind, it should be you; you're in a much worse position than I am. ”

He knew better to argue with her. So he just knelt next to her and clipped his saber pike to his jetpack. He grabbed the short-stocked rifle he'd stolen from the Death Watch troops who had dug him out of the rubble. He fell into a practiced kneeling position and sighted down the tunnel. “We have to make sure we take them out quickly and quietly, before they can relay anything back to Caranthyr's base.”

Taro scowled. “We may also be able to pry a helmet comm from one of the poor sods.”

“Too dangerous,” Brianna said. “You think Caranthyr isn't listening in on his soldier's comms? He'll know the instant we try to contact the enforcement office.”

Taro sighed. “I know you _beroyas_ are big on the whole lone wolf thing, but I'm not so excited about suicide missions.”

Dalia and Yiikish emerged from the tunnel behind them, weapons in hand. “ETA?” Dalia snapped.

“Seconds away,” Taro reported, flexing his grip over his rifle. “Get ready.”

They could hear footsteps from further down the tunnel. Brianna narrowed her eyes, readying herself for battle. The footsteps grew closer and closer, until a figure in orange and red appeared around a bend in the tunnel.

Vhetin didn't give the man a second to spot them. As soon as the man was in sight, Vhetin shouted, “Fire!” and the tunnel lit up with blaster fire.

Brianna and the others knew their targets: the neck and underarm were the weakest points on a Mandalorian's body. Their ruthless, precies shots cut the man down before he could raise his weapon to fire. The two that followed him were no luckier. Within seconds, the three-man patrol was dead.

“Move up,” Taro said. “If there were others, they will have heard that.”

Brianna holstered her pistols and said, “A three-man patrol is awfully light, considering what Caranthyr is protecting.”

“Unless we're near enough to the base that this is just a routine perimeter sweep,” Dalia said. “The enforcement office does it all the time. Why waste men on a patrol when reinforcements are minutes away?”

“That means we don't have much time,” Vhetin said. Surprisingly, he laughed and said, “But this is actually good. This'll make things so much easier.”

“How the hell do you figure?” Yiikish snapped. “You're acting like _te Manda_ just dropped the key to Caranthyr's base right into our laps.”

“It did,” Vhetin said.

“Could you explain your idea to the rest of us?” Brianna said. “I'm with Yiikish. I don't see what you're seeing.”

“About a year ago,” Vhetin explained, “Jay and I were helping rescue a friend who had been kidnapped. She was taken to an uncharted world beyond the Outer Rime.”

“Kestra Hett,” Brianna said. “I remember.”

“Right,” Vhetin said. “We knew her kidnappers would spot us on sight and kill us, so we ambushed a few of the kidnappers and took their armor. The armor managed to conceal our identities until we managed to infiltrate.”

“That's kriffing crazy,” Dalia said.

“That's bounty hunting,” Vhetin said. “We have to improvise on demand. That's what we're doing here.”

“But there's five of us,” Taro pointed out, gesturing to the corpses before them, “and only three _di'kut'e_ here. We can't all infiltrate.”

“Then we won't all be infiltrators,” Vhetin said calmly. “We'll have to alter the plan. Three of us will take the armor, while the other two pose as prisoners for Caranthyr's suicide bombers. Then, once we're inside, we free what prisoners Caranthyr still has in there and kill anyone who stands in our way.”

Brianna rubbed her chin, thinking hard. Vhetin's plan definitely had merit, but it was also very dangerous. She'd heard stories about his contract on Xexeron and his infiltration of the Sith Enclave there, but that was an isolated case. The Sith there hadn't been expecting an imminent attack; Caranthyr and his men would be.

But what other choice did they have? It wasn't as if they could just waltz up to the main gates and demand entry. This was their best chance, risky as it was.

“Okay, she finally relented. “So who's going as an infiltrator and who's a prisoner?”

“We could draw straws,” Taro suggested.

“You can,” Vhetin said. “I volunteer to be a prisoner.”

Brianna frowned at him. “Why?”

“Caranthyr knows me,” Vhetin said, folding his arm gingerly over his chest. “He's tried to kill me twice before. If you guys bring me, bound and beaten, to his center of operations, he and his men will be more willing to believe you guys are part of his crew.”

“So what, we get close to Caranthyr then break you out and kill him?”

He shook his helmeted head. “No. Caranthyr still has prisoners he's turning into suicide bombers. Once I'm taken to the prison cells, it'll be easy to break everyone out.”

“How do you figure?” Brianna said.

Vhetin chuckled. “You forget, I just got done breaking out of a facility with much better security than anything Caranthyr and his two-bit assassins have gotten their hands on.”

Dalia grudgingly nodded. “All right, consider me convinced. I'll be the other prisoner. The rest of you can take that armor.”

“No.”

Vhetin sighed. “Brianna, don't argue. This is our best-”

“No,” Brianna said forcefully. “If anyone is going to be the other prisoner, it's going to be me.”

“Bellan-” Dalia began.

“No,” Brianna snapped. “It makes sense. You're more familiar moving in full _beskar'gam_ than I am. You'll be less likely to draw attention to yourself. I'll go with Vhetin and help free the prisoners.”

Dalia glared at her fellow huntress, but finally backed down and grumbled, “Fine. Your funeral.”

Vhetin stared at Brianna, expression unreadable behind his helmet faceplate, then said, “Once we're taken to the holding cells, you three need to fall back. Once the prisoners get free, they'll start suspecting something fast. The last thing we need is you three getting caught up in all this.”

“Kriff that!” Yiikish snapped. “And let you two have all the fun?”

“All you'll have to do is get back to the enforcement office,” Vhetin said. “They'll probably still be holding back Caranthyr's men. Plenty of fun to go around.”

“He's right,” Taro said. “The last thing we need is to be stuck in enemy territory with a shitload of angry terrorists surrounding us.”

Yiikish pointed a finger at Vhetin's chest and said, “All right, I'll go along with this. But you owe me big time for this.”

Vhetin nodded. “Noted.”

As the three infiltrators set about swapping armor plating, Vhetin turned his back to them and pulled off his helmet with a hiss. Brianna glanced at him with a frown. He never took off his helmet in public, not even when under duress. “Cin? What are you doing?”

“If I've still got all my armor,” Vhetin said, “Caranthyr will be suspicious. Any self-respecting patrol will take a prisoner's armor and weapons.”

He held the black-gray helmet up to his ravaged, bruised face and sighed. “Janada's going to be pissed that I'm leaving this all behind so soon after I bought it. I'll probably have to pay her double for the next set.”

Then he let the helmet slip from his fingers and clatter to the ground. It spun on its dome for a few moments before spinning to a halt, the upside-down T-visor staring up at Brianna from the dirty-damp tunnel floor. Staring at it, she felt a shiver crawl up her spine and she quickly looked away.

Vhetin next set aside his trusty saber pike, his most prized possession. He seemed to debate with himself for a few moments before letting it clatter to the ground next to his helmet. It was followed by Vhetin's normal lightsaber, vibroblade, flamethrower, jetpack, and kneepad darts. Once he'd disarmed, he pulled a cylindrical transmitter and tossed it down among the abandoned gear, marking the position so he could return later and retrieve his possessions.

“What about your gauntlet blade?” Brianna asked.

He ejected the blade, the shortsword scraping out of its housing with a metallic _shink_. He held the sharpened razor edge up to his eyes, then sheathed it again with a flick of his wrist. “I'll keep it. Compact, retractable, and low-key. Caranthyr's men won't be looking for it. And who knows? Maybe I'll be able to bury it in Caranthyr's neck again.”

He glanced at her. “You'll need to disarm too.”

“No way,” Brianna said. “If you get to keep weapons, so can I.”

Vhetin chuckled. “Defiant to the end, huh? What are you keeping?”

“Something compact and low-key, like you said,” Brianna said. She reached down and scooped up his single-hilt lightsaber from the pile of his kit. She knelt and tucked it down her boot, where it fit snugly against her leg. Straightening, she brushed herself off and said, “See? Can't even see it. And that's a far deadlier weapon than your gauntlet blade. May come in handy.”

“I like the way you think, Bri,” Vhetin said with a grin.

She didn't bother telling him not to call her that any more and instead began disarming her other weapons. Her beloved antique pistols, vibrosword, and utility belt joined Vhetin's armaments on the pile. She was glad she hadn't brought her bow set with her; she didn't even want to think how poorly the bowstring and feathered arrows would hold up in the damp atmosphere of the tunnel.

“So now all we have to do,” Brianna sighed, now completely unarmed save for the lightsaber down her boot, “is pray someone doesn't flush a 'fresher upstairs and wash all our kit straight down the Kelita.”

“It's the little things that make all the difference,” Vhetin murmured. He rubbed the bruised and lacerated skin of his forehead, then grimaced and quickly dropped his hand. “Are you sure you want to do this? I'm sure Snake wouldn't want you in such danger.”

She ignored the half-hearted dig at Galaar and instead shrugged. “I told you I was going to watch your back. I try to keep my promises.”

She thought back to all the times she'd promised she'd never leave Vhetin, that she'd always be there for him and that she'd never need anyone in her life but him. She bit her lip and added, “The ones I can keep anyway.”

He glanced at her, eyes flashing in the darkness. If she didn't know better, she'd assume he knew exactly what she was thinking. But he quickly looked away, turning back to the others and calling, “Ready?”

“Ready,” Taro said. He adjusted the collar of his new armor with a grimace. “This blasted armor doesn't fit right and it rides up in all the wrong places, but it'll work.”

Vhetin glanced at Briana. “What about you?”

She nodded. “Ready as I'll ever be. Ready to break out the handcuffs?”

Vhetin nodded and turned around, placing his hands behind his back in order to be cuffed. As Dalia approached with a pair of binders, she grinned and said, “Bet you thought you'd be having a lot more fun when you heard that particular phrase, huh?”

“The thought did cross my mind,” Vhetin chuckled as the woman clipped the binders tight around his wrists.”

“Comfy?” She asked.

He adjusted his arms, as if trying to wriggle free, then nodded. “These binders are shabby quality. I can break through them pretty easily if we need it.”

Yiikish scowled. “Would that we all had superhuman strength. This mission would be a lot easier.”

Brianna chuckled as her hands were similarly restrained. “Just think of the story we'll be able to tell at the _Oyu'baat _tonight. Mandos will be buying us drinks left and right.”

“Something tells me we're going to need it,” Taro said. He sighed wearily and murmured, “We just have to make it there first.”

~~~~~~~~

It didn't take them long to find more of Caranthyr's men; they were crawling all over the sewers and their distinctive orange-red armor made them stand out against the shadows of the underground network. As the three infiltrators shoved a bound Vhetin and Brianna around a bend in the tunnel, a gravelly voice shouted, “Hey! You there!”

Another three-man patrol was making their way toward them, weapons thankfully lowered – for the moment. The patrol was composed of two men and a woman. The woman, the one who had shouted to them, rested a hand on the holster of her pistol as she approached. A long scar stretched across her face, pulling her left eye down and giving her a menacing, lopsided gaze. Her long auburn hair was pulled back in a tight bun, held in place by long needles that could quite possibly double as weapons.

“Who are you?” the woman snapped, her voice hoarse and grating. “What patrol are you with?”

“Alpha-Three-Eight,” Yiikish supplied. They had managed to hack the HUDs of their stolen armor early on and had easily found the classifications and passcodes the patrols would need to infiltrate the base. “We're on our way back to base. Prisoner transfer.”

The auburn-haired woman glanced at the two prisoners. Brianna squirmed as she recognized the woman: Maila Asiago, a ruthless Mandalorian commando who had once attacked Brianna during a Supercommando deployment and claimed she thought Brianna was an enemy contact. Brianna had never bought the excuse and was sure the other woman had attacked her because she wasn't a Mandalorian. It didn't surprise her that the bloodthirsty bitch had fallen in with Caranthyr and his lot.

Unfortunately, Maila recognized her as well. She grinned and drew her _beskad, _stepping forward and touching the tip of the blade under Brianna's chin. She tilted the huntress' head up, observing her cut and bruised face.

“Brianna Bellan,” she hissed with a feral grin. “As I live and breathe. Fancy meeting you down here.”

Brianna grimaced and struggled against her restraints, more for show than anything else. “Working with terrorists now, Asiago? You've sunk to an all-time low.”

Asiago's grin widened nastily. “Brave words coming from a woman in chains.”

The woman's gaze fell on Vhetin, who had kept his head bowed throughout the entire exchange. She stepped toward him, lowering her sword and kneeling in front of him. “And you must be the infamous Cin Vhetin. You've seen better days, _vod_.”

She reached out and roughly grabbed his face in her gloved hand. yanking his face into the light and staring into his bruised, swollen features. She narrowed her eyes and said, “I should feel privileged, looking at you without your bucket. You've always taken such care to hide your face from your brothers and sisters. But I'll be honest: you look like shit.”

She shoved him away and turned to Yiikish. “You can take Vhetin back to base and check him in with the other prisoners.”

She glanced over at Brianna and glared down at her. “But this one... this one is mine.”

She raised her sword in a flash and sliced open Brianna's cheek. Brianna cried out, letting her head hang down as blood dripped down her face. She felt Vhetin tense next to her, but he was powerless to do anything. Dalia, however, seemed to have prepared for such an occasion.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” Dalia said.

Maila was still glaring hatefully at Brianna, gripping her _beskad_ tightly. “And why the hell not?”

“You wanna tell Caranthyr that you robbed him of a potential asset?” Dalia said. “You know this woman's with the main investigation team. She could give us access to Shysa himself.”

Maila sneered and flexed her grip on her sword. Brianna tensed, knowing that it was equally possible for the woman to go with either option. She closed her eyes, half expecting the _beskad_ to cut into her at any moment.

But she soon heard the scrape of a saber sliding into its sheath. She opened her eyes to find Maile grudgingly waving them on. “Go on then. Get this _aruetii_ bitch and her idiot boyfriend out of my sight. Next time I see them, I want to see restraint collars on them. I may just detonate them myself.”

She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Base is back that way. You know what to do.”

Taro nodded. “Aye. We'll get them there.”

Maila glared at Brianna one last time before she signaled her patrol forward and disappeared further down the tunnel. Brianna shivered and hissed, “I don't think we've seen the last of her. She's a persistent _chakaar_.”

Dalia nudged her shoulder. “Quiet. We don't want someone overhearing you.”

The three infiltrators hauled their prisoners to their feet and set them walking back down the tunnel. Brianna followed Dalia's advice and kept her mouth shut the rest of the trip. They couldn't risk discovery now.

It was a tense-five minute walk before the tunnel abruptly ended, replaced with a thick duracrete double door. Graffiti dotted the door, and there were several panels set about the surface. Brianna glanced over at Vhetin nervously, but continued to trudge down the damp tunnel.

Taro hissed softly. “Belly of the beast. Everyone ready for this?”

“Yep,” Dalia grunted, flexing her grip on her rifle. Yiikish sighed disapprovingly, but nodded all the same. Briana and Vhetin stayed silent. As they walked along, she felt Vhetin's armored shoulder brush her own and she glanced over at him. She knew he didn't do anything by accident; if he'd touched her, it was on purpose.

He glanced over at her and nodded almost imperceptibly. It was meant to reassure her, to tell her everything was going to be all right. She felt her lips twitch slightly in a smile and nodded back to him. He held her gaze a moment, then his pale blue gaze drifted back to the double-doors ahead of him.

As they approached, Taro stepped forward and looked up at the tall door. He took a deep breath, then reached up and rapped his armored knuckles against the surface of the door.

Instantly, one of the panels sheathed open and a rusty metal orb slid out on a long telescoping rod. The orb scraped open, revealing the glowing orb of a simple bouncer droid. The droid's receptor constricted and stared at Taro and the robot barked out a sharp, Huttese order. The droid spoke too quickly for Brianna to understand completely, but she caught, “_What's your purpose?”_

“Prisoner transfer,” Taro said, pointing back at Vhetin and Brianna. “High priority. Need to get them squared away ASAP.”

The droid swiveled to stare at Vhetin and Brianna. There was a high-pitched whine as it focused on them. Brianna felt her skin tingle at the droid's dead, sterile gaze swept over her. Then it snapped back to Taro and snapped at him in Huttese again. This time, Brianna could clearly hear its command.

“_Blindfold them_. _Both of them. Then you may enter._”

Another panel on the door opened and a robotic grasping appendage holding two bag-like masks slid out toward Taro. To his credit, the Mandalorian didn't even flinch. He followed orders and grabbed the masks, moving back to the others. He pulled the black bag over Vhetin's head, just rough enough to sell it to the droid and anyone else who may be watching. He pulled the drawstring tight around Vhetin's throat so it didn't slip off.

Once done, he stepped over to Brianna. He had a sympathetic look on his face, as if he wanted to say sorry. But he said nothing. He just pulled the bag over her head, plunging her into darkness.


	17. Saving the Day

**MandalMotors Tower**

“Down!” Jay shouted, shoving Shysa out in front of her. She ducked her head just in time for a jetpack rocket to scream over her head, detonating against the side of a nearby warehouse. She spun on her heel and opened fire at her pursuer, who was readying another rocket. She caught him with a single shot to the chest, then another to the throat. He toppled and didn't rise again.

“I should be back there!” Shysa roared over the din of battle. “My place is with my fellow Mandos!”

“You can seize all the glory you want later!” Jay shouted back. “_After_ you successfully escape the assassination attempt!”

“Where the kriff is Caranthyr?”

“Don't worry about him!” Jay shouted. “The Handmaiden is on him. Just worry about getting clear!”

“Easy for you to say, lass,” he snapped. “Those aren't your brothers and sisters dyin' back there!”

“But they are my friends!” she shot back. “I don't care about the politics of this battle. They're shooting at you and I said I would keep anything bad from happening to you. So for now, your safety is my priority.”

“You have strange loyalties, Miss Moqena.”

Jay ducked a stray blaster bolt, frantically motioning for Shysa to run. “Maybe. But for now, I'm loyal to you. Just appreciate it while it lasts.”

“MandalMotors isn't far,” Shysa shouted. He lifted his longsword and brought it down on a hostile Mando in orange-red armor. The blow brought the man to his knees, his pistol clattering away. Shysa kicked him onto his back, then stabbed his saber down through the gaps in his opponent's chest plates. The man screamed and there was a quick spurt of blood, then he went limp.

Yanking the blade free, Shysa pointed to their left, to the main doors of MandalMotors Tower. It looked as if the battle had moved from the cramped and crowded plaza and degraded into smaller, more isolated fights spread across the MandalMotors complex. A knot of uniformly red-armored Mandalorians were regrouping just inside the doors of the tower, sending sporadic shots screeching out the open doors toward their orange-armored opponents sheltering some distance away.

“Go!” Jay shouted. “I'll cover you!”

Shysa nodded and took off, cutting down any Death Watch troops within reach with mighty blows from his longsword. Jay followed as close as she could, making sure no one got in a lucky shot at the Mandalore. After what seemed like a heartbeat, they sprinted through the front doors of the tower, into the main atrium and safely out of the line of fire.

“Commander Vaheis, MandalMotors Security Commander,” said one of the red-armored Mandos as he approached. He saluted and continued, “It's damn good to see you, _Mand'alor. _Things are goin' to shit out there, but Caranthyr's troops are retreating.”

Shysa nodded, resting his hands on his knees while he caught his breath. Jay hovered behind him, keeping one eye on the battle still raging at the door while she struggled to control her ragged breathing. “Who are you with?” she panted. “A security force?”

The Mando nodded, eyeing her with suspicion. As an _aruetii_, she could understand why the Mandalorians wouldn't exactly trust her with the safeguarding of their leader. But he didn't say anything about this and instead folded his arms across his chest. “Aye. MandalMotors private security. As the single biggest company on the planet, MandalMotors can't rely on an outside force of guns to defend the complex. Me and my lads are in charge of maintaining the security of the entire central ring of Keldabe.”

Jay nodded, not bothering to comment about the bang-up job their security force had done keeping the tower safe so far. Shysa didn't seem so bothered. Once he got his breath back, he glanced up at the man and said, “Have we gotten ahold of the enforcement office? Or the Protectors?”

“Aye, _Mand'alor_,” the man said, much to Jay's relief. “The enforcement office is bogged down with the offensive in the sewer, but we've got almost a hundred Supercommando volunteers incoming. Should be here in a little over ten.”

Shysa scowled as he stared out the door, to the screams wafting to them from outside. “Where the kriff did Caranthyr get so many men?”

“We've identified some of the enemy casualties, _Mand'alor_,_” _the man said. “From what we can tell, they're just normal citizens. Some of 'em have criminal records, but the majority of them are just everyday people.”

“Do you think Caranthyr's brainwashed 'em somehow?”

The Mando shook his helmeted head. “They have no sign of Caranthyr's devices on them, either surgically implanted or otherwise. Best guess is that they're volunteers.”

Shysa sighed. “So this is a traditional rebellion, then?”

“Looks that way. You believe what they're saying, sir? That Caranthyr's leadin' the new Death Watch?”

“Whatever Caranthyr's doin' he's not the ringleader,” Shysa growled. “And whatever he may claim, the Death Watch died with the Vizslas durin' the Clone Wars. Caranthyr is nothing but a two-bit lackey and these troops of his are nothin' but a cheap imitation of the real thing.”

“Respectfully, _Manda'lor_, their guns kill just as effectively, imitation or not.”

“Aye,” Shysa said, finally straightening to his full height. He reached out and rested a hand on the man's shoulder. “But like you said; we're turnin' the tide. Caranthyr's in retreat and we've got one of our best agents on his tail. The offensive in the sewers is puttin' extra pressure on him. We're hittin' him on all fronts. He'll be in our custody soon enough.”

The Mando nodded and shouldered his rifle, moving up to assist his brothers at the door. As he left, Jay leaned toward him and and murmured, “Do you have any intention of telling Les that you called her one of your best agents?”

His lips quirked up in one of his signature grins. “Nope. And you're not going to tell her either. That woman is arrogant enough as it is.”

Jay smiled and said, “As you wish, _Mand'alor_.”

She was about to move to assist the security officers at the door when another red-armored Mando sprinted up to Shysa and said, “Sir, you're going to need to hear this. A report from our men in the sewers. Channel thirty-one.”

Jay instantly stopped and listened closer. Denton, Brianna, Vhetin, and several other friends of hers were still in the sewers. She hadn't heard from them since her comm call with Vhetin before the battle. She didn't even know what was happening in the sewers, never mind how her friends were doing.

Shysa nodded and pulled his helmet on, triggering his internal comm. Jay stepped closer, trying to eavesdrop, but his helmet didn't allow any sound to escape. All she could hear were his responses.

“Uh-huh... okay... okay... what? Are you kriffing joking?”

He glanced at Jay and said, “Give me a minute, lass. Things may have just gotten more complicated.”

“What?” Jay's heart dropped. “What's happened?”

He held up a finger, signaling her to wait. He turned away and lowered his voice. She saw him shake his head and clench a fist, then murmur something in a tight, angry voice. He stayed like this for a few long minutes, trading hushed words back and forth with whoever was on the other end of the line. After a few tense minutes, he finally sighed and signed off the comm. He turned back to her, removing his helmet and running a hand through his hair.

“Lass,” he said, voice hollow. “Come here a sec?”

Jay was instantly at his side, waiting with trepidation. She wrung her hands and said, “What? What did they say?”

He sighed. “Apparently Caranthyr brought a force of his suicide bombers to Rally Point Alpha in the sewers. When he saw he wasn't winnin' the battle, he forced over fifty of his prisoners to detonate their neck collar explosives.”

Jay's heart turned to ice. “But... but what about Cin and Brianna? They were assigned to Alpha, weren't they?”

Shysa nodded, a dull look in his eyes. “It sounds like Vhetin ordered most of the boys at Alpha to retreat to Rally Point Beta when he saw the collars about to blow. But he, Brianna, an' a few others stayed behind to cover the retreat.”

“And?”

“And we haven't reestablished contact with 'em since. Janada Bralor regrouped with a small number of survivors, but... well, her reports weren't good. She said the explosion brought the tunnel roof down on top them. Almost three tons of duracrete, metal, and brick. She an' her group barely made it out alive. An' she said Vhetin and the others were almost swarmed by Caranthyr's slaves when they detonated.”

He sighed, resting his hands on his hips. “It doesn't look good. For the time bein' we're declarin' them MIA. But... lass, you have to face the possibility that they're not comin' back.”

Jay shook her head, heart pounding. She felt a little lightheaded, and had to lean heavily against a nearby information plaque. She shook her head and said, “No. No, no. I'm not going to. They're fine. They're just... just...”

Shysa squeezed her shoulder and said, “I'm sorry, lass. I know this can't be easy. But-”

She shook her head again. “I just... I need a minute.”

“O'course. I understand.”

She stared blankly at the letters on the plaque, head spinning. It wasn't possible. Vhetin, Brianna... they couldn't be dead. They'd survived much worse than this, hadn't they? They had to be all right.

_I didn't go through all the trouble to rescue Cin for him to die now_, she thought. _It can't be true. It... just can't._

But Janada's report... Jay hadn't known Janada for longer than a few days, but she knew the woman wouldn't give up on her brother unless the odds were _severely_ stacked against him. And even if they had survived the explosion, she had reported that the tunnel had collapsed down on them.

“No,” she finally said. “No. I'm not counting them out until I see bodies. Then I'll believe it.”

Shysa glanced over at her. “That's an admirable outlook, but there's not much to go on. I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you.”

“I'm not counting them out,” she repeated forcefully. “Not yet. I'll... I'll think about it more once all this chaos is over. For now-”

Before she could finish, she heard one of the door guards shout, “Incoming!” and in the next moment everything exploded. A concussive shockwave and a blast of heat hit her in the chest, sending her staggering. She felt chips of duracrete patter against her jacket as the rumble from the explosion faded.

Somewhere to her right she heard Shysa curse fluently in _Mando'a_ and she looked through watery eyes to find that all the door guards were dead, killed by what had sounded like another jetpack rocket detonation.

Shsya was climbing to his feet, the left side of his face covered in blood and his long blond hair dirty and disheveled. He grabbed his longsword and used it to prop himself up. He coughed and said, “We... need to get to the upper floors. Away from this madness.”

Jay regained her balance and coughed, “No time. Get behind me.”

Five orange-red Mandalorians were striding through the doors. Two held angular Mandalorian _beskad_ sabers, while the other two were hefting illegal Imperial Commando weaponry. The final one walked in the middle of the group and was unarmed, though a large saber hung from a scabbard on his belt. Once they saw the two survivors of the blast, the ringleader spread his arms and called, “Well, well, well. Look what we've got here, boys. A frightened little _aruetii_ lass, and our erstwhile _Mand'alor_.”

Jay raised her rifle. “Back away. I won't miss.”

“I don't doubt it, sweetheart,” the Mando said. At a hand gesture, the two Death Watch soldiers flanking him raised their rifles and aimed at her. “We won't either. So where do we stand?”

“You back away,” Jay hissed. “You go back out that door and you don't come back.”

The man laughed. “Is that all?”

“You could put down your weapons and allow yourself to be taken into custody.”

The ringleader laughed again. “Oh, I like you, _aruetii_. It's almost a shame I'm gonna have to kill you.”

“Tougher people than you have tried,” Jay said. “Last chance.”

“Even if you kill me,” the ringleader said, “my boys will cut you down in the next heartbeat. Then they'll do the same to the good ol' _Mand'alor_. Not a very good plan if you ask me.”

Jay hesitated. “So where do we stand?”

“It's simple,” the man said. “Either you hand over Shysa or we'll kill you and take him anyway. Or, if you prefer, you can decide to fight and we'll kill you and take him anyway. It's up to you.”

Jay scowled. “Well... that simple, huh?”

The ringleader looked very smug, resting his hands on his hips. He wasn't so smug when two well-placed bolts from Jay's blaster cut down the two rifle-wielding troops on his flank. The two troopers fell, clutching their blasted and burned throats before clattering to the ground in a clash of armor plates.

The man stared down at his fallen comrades, then looked back to Jay with horror. Jay trained her rifle on him and said, “Like I said, I won't miss. Put down your weapons.”

Not surprisingly, they didn't. The ringleader drew his _beskad_ and charged forward with a roar. The two saber-wielding soldiers with him were right on his heels, raising their weapons for mirrored killing blows.

Jay threw aside her rifle – it would be useless in close quarters anyway – and drew her vibroblade from her boot. The green blade activated with a raspy buzz and Jay held it up in a defensive stance. The ringleader made straight for her, while the other two leaped toward Shysa.

Jay couldn't hope to parry the Mandalorian's sword with her dagger, so she instead swung her blade and used the momentum to pull her out of the way. The man's sword slammed hard into the ground, sending sparks flying through the air. Jay sidestepped quickly and drove her knee in to the man's unarmored ribs, causing him to stagger.

She backpedaled, preparing for the inevitable counter-attack. She leaned back as the man swung his saber wildly, aiming for a slice to her throat. He swung his sword one-handed, however; a sloppy mistake. The slash drove him off-balance, giving her time to dart in again and score a long, thin slash down the bicep of his sword arm.

A year of sustained training with Vhetin had taught her all the unarmored points in a Mandalorian's armor, as well as the weaknesses of full-body combat armor. Her opponent was heavier than her, with a heavier weapon. He was stronger and could withstand more damage, but with heavy armor he was nowhere as maneuverable as she was, with her simple armorleather jacket.

He was still a threat, however. He surprised her with a backhand slap to the face that sent her staggering. She whipped back to face him just in time to see his blade descending. The terrible sound of rending leather and cloth met her ears a moment before pain erupted from her chest.

Her jacket took most of the blow, but the honed _beskar_ blade still dug into her chest and drew blood. She cried out, driven to her knees by the force of the slash. The orange-red Mandalorian towered over her, sword held in a strong two-handed grip. Beyond him, she saw Shysa being driven back by the two troopers attacking him. Their smaller _beskad_s sliced through the air quicker and more efficiently than the _Mand'alor_'s heavy longsword, forcing him to give ground quickly. With every moment that passed, he was pushed farther and farther away from her, staggering under a multitude of small but painful-looking flesh wounds.

The Mandalorian in front of Jay shifted his sword to his other hand, then reached down and grabbed her by the throat, hauling her to her feet. He pulled her to eye level and snarled, “I'm going to enjoy this, _aruetii_.”

She struggled against his grip, trying to rip herself free. But his grip was iron and she couldn't dislodge him. He hauled her around and slammed her against a transparisteel display case showing one of MandalMotors many products. He leaned close to her and hissed, “Why you would throw yourself in with this idiot warlord is beyond me. But you'll all meet the same fate.”

He moved back, pinning her at arm's length. “The only difference,” he snarled, raising his sword, “is that you will not be given the privilege of a warrior's death.”

Then he stabbed forward, plunging his blade deep into her shoulder. Pain erupted through her entire right side, racing through her blood like fire. She arched her back and screamed, writhing and trying to kick at her captor.

He let out a low growl and began slowly twisting the blade in her shoulder. She could feel blood soaking the arm of her jacket and was beginning to lose feeling in her arm. She grimaced and tried gasping for breath, but the man was crushing her windpipe with his strong grip. She fell limp as she felt him draw his blade out, the tip stained with blood.

“You _aruetiise_ never learn,” the man said, absently looking at the blood that stained his _beskad_. “You prance around among us, thinking yourselves our _equals_. That we can _coexist_. Fools. The only place you belong is under our collective boot.”

He drew the blade back to shoulder-length, preparing to stab forward again. “We _Mando'ade_ are better than you. And we will _always_ be better than you.”

Jay moved before she could think. Gathering the last of her strength, she pulled her injured arm up as hard as she could and buried her vibroblade under the Mandalorian's chin. He froze, letting out a choked gurgle. Tiny spurts of blood sprayed from the wound as the man's sword fell from limp, twitching fingers.

“If you really want to be better than us,” Jay hissed in a shaky, breathless voice, “spring for better armor.”

She couldn't hold her arm up any more and let the vibroblade slip from her grasp. The man weakly tried to grasp at the bloodstained hilt of the blade protruding from his throat. Eventually, his arm fell limp and he toppled back onto the tile floor. He let out a few more pained gurgles and coughs, then went still.

Jay staggered and fell to her knees, holding her injured arm. She felt sticky-warm blood flow through her fingers and could see dark scarlet droplets patter gently to the pristine floor. Her head was swimming from the throbbing pain, making it hard to get her bearings. She wanted very much to vomit, but choked back the feeling.

_Get up!_ she shouted to herself. _Shysa still needs help! Get up!_

She staggered to her feet, limping forward and yanking her vibroblade free from the dead Mandalorian's throat. Blood dripped from the blade, trailing out behind her as she moved toward Shysa and his combatants.

The Mandalore swung with a mighty strike that caught one Mando in the chest and sent him stumbling away. Shysa focused on the single remaining man and brought his blade up, catching the other man's smaller _beskad_ on the edge of his longsword.

“Give it up, Fenn!” the _beskad_-wielding man shouted. “You know you're only staving off the inevitable!”

Shysa shoved the man away and planted a boot in his back, sending him flying off his feet. Just in time, too: the other Death Watch trooper had regained his balance and rushed forward. Shysa threw himself into a somersault to dodge away and came up swinging, slicing upward along the man's chest. The blade scored a thin slash along the Mando's chest plate, but didn't harm him.

“We Mandos have lived in peace for over three thousand years without you,” Shysa roared. He rose to his feet, slamming his sword against the other man's blade with a tremendous crash. “An' we can continue to do so!”

He shoved the man away and swung the blade over his head, bringing the blade down on the orange-armored attacker's helmet. The man buckled, falling to his knees. Shysa raised his longsword again and roared, “Death Watch has tried time an' again to take over. Every time we've pushed 'em back. This'll be no different!”

Before he could deliver a killing blow, however, the first swordsman appeared over Shysa's shoulder and stabbed a short _beskar_ combat knife into his chest. The short blade slipped easily past Shysa's armor plates and plunged into his chest. Shysa cried out, falling to one knee. The fallen Mando rose to his feet and grabbed his saber again, raising it for a sharp stab that would pierce Shysa's throat.

Jay didn't give him the chance. With the last of her strength, she surged forward, grabbed the man's shoulder, and drew her weapon across his throat. The vibrating blade sliced deep into the man's neck, accompanied by a spray of bright blue blood; a non-human, then.

“Taori!” shouted the man still holding Shysa. “You bitch!”

Shysa took advantage of the man's distraction and drove his head back, headbutting the Mandalorian as hard as he could. There was a sharp _clang_ and the man staggered back, clutching his helmet. Shysa looked to Jay and shouted, “Take him!”

Jay couldn't win in a hand-to-hand melee, at least not in her current state. So she did the first thing that came to mind; she grasped her dagger by the blade and threw it just like Brianna had taught her during her early days of training. The vibroblade whistled through the air and embedded itself in the man's throat. He stiffened, letting out a surprised gasp.

Shysa took advantage of the man's distraction and grabbed his longsword once again and swinging it in a mighty arc over his head. With a shout, he sliced it horizontally and separated the man's head from his shoulders. The man's helmet clattered to the floor, his body soon following.

In the span of a single moment, they were plunged into silence. Jay felt another throb in her shoulder, her entire right arm soaked with blood now. She let out a gasp and sank to her knees, catching her breath before easing herself into a sitting position with her back against a display case of armor. Shysa, green chest plates stained red with blood, yanked off his helmet and slowly settled himself next to her.

Jay held her arm tightly, trying to staunch the bloodflow. The wound still hurt, but it wasn't fatal by any stretch of the imagination. A decent medic and a shot of bacta and she'd be as good as new.

They sat in silence for a long time, listening to the distant sounds of blasterfire, growing more and more sparse as the battle outside wound to a halt. Eventually, the sounds faded completely, leaving the two in complete silence.

Shysa glanced at her, then chuckled and said, “So... guess you're gettin' you're money's worth from us Mandos, eh?”

She let out a weak laugh and closed her eyes with an exhausted sigh. “I can safely say that there is no such thing as a slow weekend here on Mandalore.”

He laughed again, letting his head rest against the display case. They were silent for a few moments more before Shysa said, “I guess I should thank you, lass.”

She tore her eyes open, which was more difficult than she expected. “What? What do you mean?”

“You saved my life back there,” Shysa said, gesturing to the bodies of the Death Watch soldiers. “You heard 'em: they wanted to kill me. An' they probably would have succeeded if not for you.”

She sighed and closed her eyes again. “All in a day's work. Not all _aruetii_ are scared of you guys. I know you're all just lovable bufoons in pretty painted armor.”

He stared at her for a few moments, then burst out laughing. A second later, her grimaced and held a hand to his chest plates. “Ah, damn. Don't make me laugh.”

“Tell you what,” she sighed, feeling herself starting to nod off against her will, “you let me sleep, I won't make you laugh.”

“Deal,” Shysa said. “Reports are statin' that Caranthyr's forces are in full retreat. The Supercommandos are on their way, and then they'll all take the fight to the sewers with the enforcement office. You've earned a rest.”

She barely heard the Mandalorians storming through the doors, weapons drawn, calling out, “_Mand'alor_? _Mand'alor_, sound off!”

Shysa weakly waved his arm and called, “Over here, lads. We're takin' a bit of a breather, if you don't mind.”

No less than ten Mandalorians turned the corner, fanning out and securing the area. These Mandos weren't wearing the diverse colors of normal citizens, the gold-gray of the enforcement office, of even the orange-red of the Death Watch soldiers. They were all wearing identical uniforms of green and red, with yellow pauldrons and knee pads.

Mandalorian Protectors. Supercommandos.

Jay weakly opened her eyes and threw off a halfhearted salute to the commandos moving forward to help them. “Morning, gents,” she said. “How's everything outside?”

One of the green-red Mandalorians gestured back toward the door and shouted in a gravelly voice, “Medics! We need medics in here now!”

He knelt next to her and pulled his helmet off, revealing the bald head and scowling face of Tobbi Dala.

“Easy there,” he growled. “You've lost a lot of blood. You're probably a little light headed.”

“No,” she sighed, closing her eyes again. “Just tired.”

She was about to nod off again when Dala slapped her. It wasn't meant to harm her, just startle her and get her adrenaline pumping. It worked very well; she cried out and started awake, blinking rapidly.

“Welcome back,” Dala said. “Hang in there. Medics are on their way. They'll get you patched up. But I need you to stay awake until then. Okay?”

Jay nodded quickly, heart still pounding . “Okay, fine.”

He nodded back, then put a hand on Shysa's shoulder and said, “What about you, Fenn? You all right?”

“A little battered,” Shysa replied, “but those bloody assassins sure had to work for it. I earned these scars today, Tobbi.”

Dala nodded, looking too relieved that his friend was alive to so much as smile at Shysa's joke. “Good. I'm glad.”

He then turned away and put a finger to his helmet's comm piece. She could clearly hear him say, “This is Dala. Shysa is secure. Repeat, Shysa is secure. All forces, regroup at the MandalMotors plaza for exfil and transport to the sewer entrance.”

He turned back to Jay for just a moment. “Rest easy, Miss Moqena. You did well. We'll take it from here”

Jay nodded, then closed her eyes again.


	18. Caranthyr's Base

**Caranthyr's Base, Kelabe Sewer System**

Brianna tried to keep her heart calm as she and Vhetin were led through the seemingly endless winding hallways of Caranthyr's base. She heard muffled voices on the outside of the bag over her head, but couldn't see anything other than a dark blur outside. The air was hot inside the rough material of the bag that blinded her, making her breath come shorter and sharper than before. She clenched her fists, feeling her heart pound in her chest. Her stomach began to crawl dangerously, her body breaking out in cold sweat.

She felt Cin brush her arm again, but it did nothing to calm her. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine what the hallway outside looked like. She tried to imagine what Cin might be thinking right now. Anything to calm her pounding heart. He could hear her staggered breathing, very loud to her own ears, and heard people cursing and jeering at her from outside.

Vhetin brushed against her again and murmured, “Easy, Bri. I'm right here.”

She shook her head, breathing faster. “I... I can't... I can't...”

She felt Taro's grip on her shoulder tighten reassuringly, but he couldn't say anything to her without risking blowing his cover. She tried to take easy, shallow breaths, just like she'd been taught. Her already-blurry vision began to swim and she grew increasingly dizzy with each passing moment. She couldn't control her breathing any more and she began gasping for air in quick, short breaths.

“First cell we get to,” Vhetin murmured to his captor, “put us in as quick as possible.”

Whoever was leading him didn't answer, but she was sure Vhetin's orders would be heeded. They had to. She wouldn't be able to handle much more of this.

_Calm,_ she thought, even as she began panicking more and more. _ Calm down. No one benefits if you freak out now. Just... calm down._

“Cin,” she whimpered, “I-I can't... Get me out of this thing!”

“We're almost there, Bri,” he responded. His voice was soothing, and she tried to focus on him while blocking out all else, even though she knew he was just as clueless as she was. Her chest was heaving as she gasped for breath, so fast her lungs were hurting. She coughed and began to gag, moaning, “Cin...”

“Just hold on,” Vhetin said. “We're in the prison bay now. Just hang on, Bri.”

She nodded quickly, choking down a whimper as her stomach churned. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think of anything else, letting out soft whimpers as she staggered along. Finally, finally, she heard the sound of a heavy prison cell door sliding open. She was shoved roughly over the threshold, where she stumbled and fell forward. Her binders automatically clicked apart, freeing her arms. She instantly let out a strained cry and tore at the bag over her head. When it wouldn't come off, she began to let out choked, terrified sobs.

“Easy, easy,” she heard Vhetin say. He took her hands and pulled them away. “It's okay, Brianna. I'm here.”

As he tenderly pulled the bag off her head, she heard Taro's echoing voice say, “What the hell happened to her?”

Vhetin set the bag aside, brushing her hair away from her eyes and cupping her face between his hands. She reached out and grabbed his arms tightly, desperate to grab ahold of something, _anything. _He was kneeling in front of her, his ravaged face cast into partial shadow. His intense blue gaze found her brown one and held it until she gradually began to calm down. Her desperate gasps for air slowly began to ease, her racing heart gradually steadying out again.

“What happened?” Taro said again.

“Brianna is claustrophobic,” Vhetin said. “You never wondered why she never wears helmets? That bag didn't help her at all.”

He turned back to Brianna and held her gaze again. “Bri, look at me. _Look_ at me. Try to shorten your breathing. You're hyperventilating.”

She nodded quickly and focused on shortening her breath and not gasping for air. Vhetin helped her, demonstrating the calming breath techniques she'd been taught when she was still a teenager. He took short, shallow breaths that would help her regain her senses. She wanted to panic, but the pale blue of Cin's eyes captured her attention, forcing her to focus on him and no one else. Her body was still shaking uncontrollably, but her stomach was slowly calming down, her breathing gradually returning to normal levels.

“Remember the breathing, Bri,” he told her. “Breathe through your nose. Don't breathe deep, just breathe shallow. If you breathe deep, you'll only make things worse.”

Vhetin called over his shoulder, not breaking eye contact. “I've got her. You three get out of this place.”

Dalia fidgeted and Yiikish said, “Are you sure? We can still help out, you know.”

“I know. But if you guys get caught, you'll be in worse position than we will. We can't let Caranthyr know he's got infiltrators. Go. We've got it.”

Yiikish nodded and thumped a fist against his chest plates, an old Mandalorian salute. “We'll leave some weapons outside the detention block, in the armory. Code will be 2838. Good luck to you, _vode_.”

“And to you.”

Taro nodded questioningly to Brianna as well. She swallowed and nodded back. Her panic attack was easing and her breathing was well under control again. She fell back onto her elbows, wiping her sweaty forehead.

Vhetin finally stood and watched the three infiltrators move out of sight, down the hall. He stepped up to the ray-shielded bars and watched them for a few moments more. He rested his hands on his armored hips and observed the cell for a few moments. He narrowed his eyes and said, “Right... this is going to be a little tougher than the Facility. No dumb stormtroopers to help me out.”

“Cin...” Brianna gasped. He quickly turned back to her and she said, “Thanks for that. Back there... it wasn't good. Thanks for helping me snap out of it.”

She laughed weakly and rubbed at the back of her neck. “I'm... actually surprised that old eye contact trick still worked. You haven't had to do that in years.”

“It was my pleasure,” Vhetin said, bowing his head slightly. “There was a time that I helped you a lot with that. Remember when you got stuck in the crawlspace in Rame's barn?”

She laughed, a little stronger now. “And you just sat there talking to me for an hour and a half while Rame sawed out the crawlspace floor? Yeah, I remember that day well. Janada and Tamai had a field day making fun of me.”

He moved away from the doorway and moved back toward her, rubbing his forehead wearily. “Are you ready to go?”

She slowly clambered to her feet and adjusted her armor. “Yeah. I just... thanks, Cin.”

He nodded. She was more than happy to let the matter rest. She closed her eyes and took a few minutes to catch her breath. Eventually, Vhetin's voice broke her attention.

“Okay. I think I have a plan to get out of here.”

She opened her eyes. “What, attack the guards again? I don't think that's going to work all the time. These guys will be expecting that.”

“No,” Vhetin said. “I'm thinking of something a little more direct.”

“More direct than attacking the guards?”

He nodded. “The infiltration part of this mission is over. It doesn't matter if Caranthyr's men know we're here now. Our priority is to release his remaining prisoners. So we don't need to wait for the guards. We just need to get the hell out of here.”

He pointed to the ray-shielded prison bars. “Take a look. These doors are so old, they're almost antique. They're not automated; they're still using hinges.”

“So?”

He cracked his knuckles in preparation. “Hinges are fragile. They can bend and break, if given the proper... persuasion.”

He reached for the ray-shielded bars. Brianna scrambled to her feet and grabbed his wrist. “Wait! Cin, you know the level of radiation burns ray shields can cause. You're going to seriously hurt yourself.”

“I'm beat-up enough as it is. The worst these shields can do to me is give me an extra week or so in the medcenter. Besides, we need to get out of here. I'm not going to let Caranthyr's prisoners fend for themselves. Are you?”

“Are you sure you can even do this? You may be stronger than normal people, but you aren't _that_ strong. Are you?”

“I hold no illusions that I'm some superhero,” he murmured, staring at the bars in front of him. “But I think I can do this. It'll be... difficult, but I can do it.”

He looked over and met her gaze. “I can do this, Brianna.”

She bit her lip, then slowly released his wrist. He held her gaze for a moment, then turned back to the ray shields in front of him. His jaw clenched, an obvious sign of nervousness despite his confident words. He flexed his hands, then reached out and grabbed the bars. The shimmering white lights of the ray shields instantly undulated and curled around his wrists, sending showers of sparks and a wave of heat arcing back over them. He grimaced as his arms clenched under the strain, shaking with effort. Brianna instinctively took a step back.

He let out a low grunt, grimacing against the pain, then began pulling against the bars. She watched the veins standing out on his neck as he strained. Using his superior strength was obviously taking its toll. He let out a tortured groan and Brianna saw the bars beginning to shake in their housing.

“It... it burns,” he gasped through clenched teeth. “Oh kriff, it _burns_.”

Brianna hesitated. What if he couldn't do this? What if the bars proved too strong? He was seriously injuring himself, and she didn't want it to be for nothing.

Then, with an almighty wrench, Vhetin yanked back on the bars and tore them straight off their hinges. The bars clattered loudly to the stone floor and Vhetin staggered away into the corner. The shimmering ray shields flickered out, the power conduits house within the bars now separated from the overall system.

Vhetin collapsed to his hands and knees and Brianna could see smoke wafting up from his seemingly unmarked flesh. She knew, however, that in a few days his skin would turn a livid, inflamed red. If left untreated, the burns would render his hands necrotic and they would have to be amputated to save the rest of his arms from suffering the same fate. With proper medical attention, however, he would recover; the recovery would be slow, but he would recover.

She could see his arms shaking uncontrollably, his fingers curling against the damp stone of the floor. His eyes were squeezed shut, jaw clenched so tightly she could see the veins standing out along his neck. He ducked his head, then arched his back. A second later, he vomited black fluid into the corner.

She was instantly at his side, a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

He sucked a breath in between his teeth, eyes watering as he stared at his burned and crippled hands. “Yeah,” he managed to choke out. “I'm... I-I'm fine. Just... give me a minute.”

She glanced over her shoulder, at the now-open doorway before them. “I'm not sure we have that long.”

“Just...” he trailed off as he vomited again, spraying the corner with sticky black preservative fluid. He gagged and curled up into a fetal position, shaking violently. He vomited twice more before his spasms stopped. He remained curled up, silently shaking, for a long time. Then, just as Brianna was about to kneel and help him, he slowly crawled back to his hands and knees. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and gasped, “All this strenuous activity... must be accelerating my body's preservative creation levels. Not a good sign.”

She pulled an arm under his shoulder and hauled him to his feet. “Then that makes it even more important that we find Caranthyr's prisoners and get out of here. Nothing else matters at this point.”

He didn't argue. He gently extricated himself from Brianna and leaned against the wall, coughing and rubbing his throat. Then he nodded to her and stepped through the hole he'd made in the door. Brianna kept a watchful eye out for guards as they slowly made their way to the command center, the main atrium of the prison bay. When they reached the command center, they found it strangely deserted.

_Caranthyr's men must be focused on the battle in the sewers_, she thought. _No sense holding your forces back for a defensive push._

She sat Vhetin in one of the nearby chairs, giving him a chance to catch his breath. She quickly found the door to the armor, stationed just outside the detention cell so guards could quickly arm themselves in case of a breach. True to his word, Taro had changed all the codes to 2838 on his way out. She quickly gathered up a pair of pistols for herself, and a rifle, a slate-gray helmet, and a _beskad_ saber for Vhetin. She also loaded as many extra weapons she could find into a transportation pouch, which she slung over her shoulder. If they were going to break out prisoners, they'd need as many people armed as possible.

When she returned to the detention block atrium, she found Vhetin sitting at the main terminal, gingerly typing into the main terminal with his no-doubt raw fingers, which were already starting to grow red with radiation burn. When she approached he smiled at her, weary but thankful, and accepted his gear. As much as she hated to admit it, it made her feel better when he replaced his helmet; he didn't look like he was in so much pain any more. The expressionless T-visor of his helmet, though lacking the distinctive double-stripe over the right side of his face, betrayed no emotion, no fear, and no pain. In the span of an instant, he was just as strong and confident as he had always been.

“Did you...” she hesitated. “Did you deal with the preservative fluid back there?”

Vhetin had been almost religiously focused on eradicating all traces of the viscous black preservative fluid so far. He claimed that it was a breeding ground for the infection that now raged within his body, an infection he and Jay both reported would reduce normal people to violent animalistic monsters.

“I dealt with it,” he reassured her with a sigh. “Found an old combustion grenade in one of the supply lockers and fried the entire cell just to be safe.”

He gestured to the console, where a sparking computer spike was sticking out of the main data port. “Also found this. It helped me gain access to some of Caranthyr's computer systems.”

“And what did you find?” she asked.

“Hacking through this security system wasn't easy, but I managed. Looks like the majority of Caranthyr's prisoners were killed when he sent them as suicide bombers to Rally Point Alpha.”

Brianna sighed. “Bloody hell.”

“But,” he continued, “There's still almost twenty people left over, mostly wounded, elderly, or underage. They're contained in Cell Block D.”

“Then what we waiting for? Let's get them and get the kriff out of here.”

He hauled himself out of the chair with a groan, tapping in a few more commands before pulling out the data spike and tucking it back into its place on his belt. Limping heavily, he followed her back down the hall to Cell Block D.

“We're almost through this,” she heard him muttering to himself. “Almost home.”

~~~~~~~~

**Keldabe City Streets**

The Handmaiden sprinted from rooftop to rooftop, always keeping her gaze on Caranthyr's shifting, colorful armor on the streets below. He was running as fast as he could from the site of the attack, having retreated as soon as the Mandalore Shysa had gained the upper hand in battle. Where he was going, she had no clue. She just knew Moqena had ordered her to take him into custody. As a matter of personal pride, she could not fail in this endeavor.

Nothing could slow her down now. She was caught up in the speed and grace of traditional Echani freerunning, losing herself in the whistling wind, the dizzying speed, and the intoxicating feeling of weightlessness that went along with it. Her hood whipped back as she sprinted, letting her shoulder-length white hair trail out behind her in the wind.

She triggered her comm unit as she leaped across the gap between buildings, sliding down an inclined rooftop and launching herself into the air. She tucked her knees close to her chest and somersaulted as she landed, coming to her feet still running. She swung around a chimney, using the momentum to pull herself forward.

“This is the Handmaiden,” she reported. “I have Caranthyr in sight and aim to pursue. I am transmitting coordinates now.”

“_Affirmative_,” came the instant response over her comlink. “_This is Keldabe Air Pacification, inbound to your coordinates. Caranthyr tries anything, we can herd him back toward friendly forces_.”

She nodded as she swung her way around another circular chimney protruding from the roofline. She hauled herself up onto a broken pillar, hopping from foothold to foothold. Caranthyr took a sharp right turn, ducking down a side alley. The Handmaiden threw herself across the street, just managing to grab the edge of the roofline and scramble up in time. She had perfect balance as she sprinted along the very edge of the roof, and she knew a single misstep would spell a fall of almost four meters, resulting in serious injury and maybe even death.

Caranthyr had no idea he was being followed. He was too focused on getting free of the battle at MandalMotors tower that he was not paying heed to his surroundings. The terrorist sprinted through a dilapidated alley, where the cobblestone street was uneven and buckled. She watched him shove bystanders out of the way, brandishing his blaster like some common thug. People shouted in surprise and fear, giving him a wide berth.

It disgusted the Handmaiden on a professional level, but she did acknowledge that it made her job easier. He was panicked and unfocused, too caught up in plans for self-preservation to know he was being hunted.

She triggered her comm again. “Caranthyr is growing increasingly aggressive. It will not be long before someone is injured. Recommendation?”

There was a pause over the channel, then the same voice said, “_Take him out. Non-lethal_.”

The Handmaiden narrowed her ice-blue eyes. “I can do that.”

She instantly began surveying the area, closely watching both Caranthyr's position and his relation to the nearby buildings. She knew she would not be granted a second chance to strike at him. If she could get the right vantage point...

Her window came; Caranthyr stumbled a little too close to her perch, losing his balance and faltering in his retreat.

She could waste no time; she bent her knees and threw herself out into open air. She plummeted down through the air, drawing her quarterstaff from her belt in a single smooth motion. She fell, feet-first toward the armored man, hitting him hard in the shoulders and driving them both to the ground.

The jarring, concussive impact she had prepared for. What she was not expecting was the sudden, resounding _crack_ and the following deep rumble. She let loose a little-known Echani curse as she felt the crooked, uneven cobblestones give out beneath them. A geyser of dust and duracrete chips shot up into the air as the Handmaiden and Caranthyr broke through the street, crashing down into a deep chasm beneath them.

The Handmaiden experienced a terrifying moment of weightlessness, nothing at all like her earlier feelings while freerunning. Then she and Caranthyr both hit the ground hard, landing in a tangle of arms and legs. The crippling collision knocked her quarterstaff from her grasp, sending it bouncing away out of her reach. Her vision swam with stars, head ringing.

_Damned Mandalorians_, she thought with a tortured grimace. _Damn them and their run-down city._

Holding her ribs with one arm, she reached out and grabbed her fallen quarterstaff, clutching it tightly to her chest. Her breath came in short, quick gasps and her left leg throbbed whenever she moved it. She tried to focus her wavering vision on her surroundings; no easy task with her pounding head and her aching muscles. Eventually, she gathered up enough strength to roll off of Caranthyr, onto her bruised and aching back. She could see a brilliant shaft of daylight far above, but the area where they had fallen was almost pitch dark. Water was dripping from somewhere behind her and the air was thick and dank with moisture, mold, and the stench of excrement.

_Sewers, then_, she thought with a grimace. _Not surprising, I suppose, considering that the Mandalorian's base is situated within._

Caranthyr, protected by heavy armor plating, recovered faster than she did. He wasted no time in driving his knee into the Echani's ribs, making her curl up with a groan. He scrambled to his feet and slowly began to stagger off. The Handmaiden reacted before he could get too far, kicking her feet out and tripping the Mandalorian. He crashed to the ground with an exhausted groan, holding his right shoulder, which looked dislocated.

“I was tasked...” the Handmaiden gasped, “to bring you... to justice.”

She rolled onto all fours and clambered over to him, yanking his arms behind his back. She reached for a pair of binders clipped to her belt, but the Mandalorian suddenly bucked underneath her, knocking her away. He twisted and slammed his forehead forward into her face, knocking her hood back. She quickly rolled back onto her hands and knees and wiped blood from her now-broken nose.

“That...” she panted, “was most unwise.”

Caranthyr was obviously agitated; his shape-shifting abilities had kicked into overdrive. His face was constantly shifting and changing in a mess of rippling features and colors. One moment he was a gaunt-faced human man with stringy black hair, the next he was an orange-skinned Kel-Dor, rebreather and all, and then he was even a long, red-haired Zeltron woman. As he tried to crawl away, the Handmaiden could see the cause of his anguish: a three-foot shard of timber that had embedded itself in his ribs during the fall. Blood poured from the wound and his hands were shaking uncontrollably.

The Handmaiden staggered to her feet, drawing her quarterstaff. She triggered her comlink and gasped, “This is the... the Handmaiden. Caranthyr is secure.”

The Mandalorian on the other end of the line sounded genuinely surprised. “_Good work, Echani. We'll have troopers on-site in fifteen._ _Can you hold him until then?”_

“I can,” she grunted. With a short, precise jab, she drove the staff down into the back of his neck, making him crumple again to the ground. The Handmaiden stumbled slightly, her muscles screaming at such overuse, but she managed to hold her balance. She sheathed her quarterstaff and knelt over him, placing her boot on the back of his right thigh and firmly grasping his ankle in her hands. With a sharp wrench, she twisted his leg to the side, and the motion was met with a sharp, sickening _crack_. Caranthyr arched his back and screamed, long and loud.

“Justice,” the Echani hissed. “One broken leg for one broken nose.”

“You _bitch_!” Caranthyr moaned. “You broke my kriffing leg!”

“And I will do much, much more if you continue to resist,” she snarled, feeling her own blood drip down her chin. “You will come with me... and await punishment from the Mandalorian Justicars. But first, you will tell me who hired to you cause such chaos throughout the city.”

He weakly shook his head. “No...”

She fell to her knees next to him. “Who... who is your employer?”

“Go... kriff yourself... white-hair.”

The Handmaiden drove her fist into the back of Caranthyr's rippling, shape-shifting neck. He fell forward with a whimper. Handmaiden scowled furiously and demanded again, “Who is your _employer_?”

“Your... whore mother.”

Another devastating punch. “_Who the kriff is your employer_?”

When he didn't speak, she rolled him onto his back and grabbed him by his face, pulling him awkwardly into a half-sitting position. “Tell me what I wish to know or I swear by the snows of my homeworld you will die in the slowest, most painful way possible.”

“G-go...” Caranthyr let out a choked laugh. “Go fuck yourself.”

She was about to punch again when something massive grabbed her from behind, an iron grip closing around her throat. In the span of moments, she was ripped off the ground and thrown into the air, crashing onto her back almost four meters away. She cursed as she landed on her back, her head knocking painfully against the stone ground.

She heard a steady ring in her ears as she rolled onto her front, cursing quietly. In front of her, she heard a deep buzz and a heavy, metallic _clank_. Looking up, she saw Caranthyr crawling away into the darkness, just behind a hulking amalgamation of flesh and metal standing in the caved-in room behind her, a brilliant shaft of daylight sending highlights racing along polished black armor.

She cursed inwardly and triggered her comm again. “Caranthyr is no longer secure. I need reinforcements.”

“_They're on their way. Five minutes._”

“Copy,” she groaned.

“_Whatever you do, don't let Caranthyr make it into those tunnels. They're like a labyrinth; he gets in there, we'll never find him.”_

That wouldn't be difficult; Caranthyr was gravely wounded, his ability to walk crippled by his now-shattered leg. He was losing blood quickly and, if his suddenly storm of shape-shifting was any clue, his healing abilities were struggling to keep up with his wounds. He was severely crippled, though he would not stay that way for long. The creature before her could be dealt with, as long as it was dealt with quickly.

Another baritone buzz and metal plates shifted to reveal glowing red status lights. A deep, booming voice rumbled out of the mass toward her. “_YOU WILL GO NO FARTHER, TINY FLESHLING. PLACE YOUR WEAPON ON THE GROUND AND PREPARE FOR PACIFICATION._”

The Handmaiden scowled deeply, clenching her quarterstaff in her gloved grip. D'harhan's massive frame stood between her and Caranthyr, sending a very clear message: the Handmaiden would have to go through him to get to Caranthyr.

“Much as I would enjoy testing my skills against your own,” she murmured, “I have no time to waste on you, brute.”

She moved to circle around him, but D'harhan took a heavy step forward, clenching his fists and lashing his cybernetic tail. She froze in place and stared at him with narrowed eyes. The cyborg was standing, massive fists clenched, metallic tail slithering lazily across the floor.

She pointed an accusatory finger at the gigantic alien. “Do not test me, brute. I have neither the time or patience for games.”

“_PLACE YOUR WEAPON ON THE GROUND_,” D'harhan repeated. “_I WILL NOT SAY AGAIN._”

“Nor will I,” the Echani hissed. “Stand down, or I will be forced to harm you. Perhaps kill.”

“_PLACE YOUR WEAPON ON THE GROUND_,” he insisted. “_I DO NOT WISH TO HARM YOU._”

“I am sure you do not,” she admitted truthfully. “I am aware that you are being influenced by the terrorist I seek. But that will not change your fate.”

D'harhan stared at her silently for a long time. Then, in an almost regretful way, his head-cannon hoisted itself up and began to rumble with a charge. The Handmaiden scowled deeper, pulling her black-and-white hood back over her head and bending her knees.

Countless hours of passive observation and interpretation had given the Handmaiden with a sizable list of D'harhan's strengths and weaknesses. His strengths were obvious: he was physically a mighty being with surprising speed and agility. His cannon, as he himself claimed, could cripple an Imperial Walker with a single shot. His mechanical tail was fast and deadly, capable of either dismembering or impaling victims like Tatooine's deadly sandscorpions. If the Handmaiden failed, the gigantic alien could tear her limb from limb within the blink of an eye.

But for all that, D'harhan was not without his weaknesses. In confined spaces, he was clumsy and slow, and had to take care to fire his cannon to avoid harming himself with the backwash from the blaster fire. And even if he managed to fire, he had a tell; the moment before he fired his cannon discharged energy, causing a momentary stutter in the rumble of his head-cannon. The Handmaiden waited for this stutter, eyes never leaving D'harhan's malevolently pulsating lights.

The stutter came: an oh-so-subtle hitch in the cyborg's charge. She reacted without thinking, throwing herself out of the way and tucking herself into a tight roll. The deafening _thoom _of D'harhan's cannon rang out through the dark space, a sudden flare of red light striking through the tunnel like lightning.

An earth-shaking explosion just barely caught the Handmaiden at her back, knocking her off her feet and spraying her with superheated stone. She threw herself into a roll and came back to her feet, drawing her quarterstaff and pulling it behind her in a neutral stance.

Taking slow, measured steps, she began to circle around D'harhan, nothing that he followed her with his dead mechanical gaze. As much as she would enjoy dueling with the alien, time was of the essence. Removing Caranthyr's control chip, wherever it should be, would have to suffice. Hopefully, D'harhan would return to his normal self once it was removed. But without knowing what the chip looked like or where it was, removing it would be a challenge even for her.

“I cannot lie and say I have not waited for this moment,” she hissed, “but I will not allow you to stand between me and my quarry.”

D'harhan let out a dark rumble and slammed his tail against the stone ground. “_YOU WILL NOT TOUCH THE ARMORED FLESHLING. I WILL NOT ALLOW IT_.”

“You would allow it,” the Handmaiden said, “were it not for the control chip Caranthyr has no doubt placed within your implants.”

_Non-lethal_, she thought, narrowing her eyes. _I hate being compelled to combat others without killing them._

Then she sprinted forward, before D'harhan could charge his cannon again. He tried to stab at her with his prehensile tail, but she dodged with a graceful pirouette. Before he could attack again, she leaped forward and stabbed with her quarterstaff. The durasteel bar bit deep into the cyborg's armor, driven forward by the Echani's honed martial strength. D'harhan recoiled, a large chunk of cybernetics showering from his neck in a rain of shining metal shards.

She slid under his flailing arm and grabbed one of the rivets that protruded from his spine. She pulled herself up, throwing herself onto D'harhan's shoulders like some deranged monkey-lizard. She drew her staff arm back and stabbed forward into the cyborg's neck again, thrusting her quarterstaff straight through the alien's cybernetic throat.

D'harhan let out an earsplitting screech and reared back, his mechanical tail racing up, grabbing her arm, and yanking her away. She crashed to the ground, tucking herself into a ball to minimize the damage. Her quarterstaff was still protruding from D'harhan's throat, sending out a flash of sparks every time the durasteel shaft brushed against a stray power component.

She rose to her feet and adjusted her hood. “You cannot win, brute. I am simply too fast for you.”

D'harhan stomped his massive feet and bellowed, “_YOU LEAVE ME LITTLE CHOICE, FLESHLING_.”

“Look at the puppet,” the Handmaiden hissed, cocking her head, “playing at being a living being. Choice? You have no choice any longer.”

D'harhan twitched and stared at her, his tail twitching. “_ENOUGH OF ME REMAINS TO KNOW I WILL TAKE NO PLEASURE IN YOUR DEATH_.”

Then he charged forward, his armored footsteps shaking the ground. The Handmaiden clenched her fists, then sprinted for him.

~~~~~~~~

**Keldabe City Sewers**

Janada ducked behind a protruding pipe, pulling her longdaggers close to her chest. She could hear the shouts and screams of the Death Watch troopers just beyond her, sliced down by blasterfire and swords alike. Her armor was stained with blood, mixing with the deep scarlet of her plates. She narrowed her eyes at her TacHUD display, the red-orange holographic readout showing a mass of four troops just beyond her hiding place. She clenched her fists around the hilts of her daggers, then threw herself out into the tunnel.

_These Death Watch _shabuire_ are attentive, I can certainly give 'em that._ She was hit by three shots to the chest plates before she was on top of them. Her progress was slowed by the enemy fire, but not halted. She threw her shoulder into the first man, knocking him off his feet. Drawing her longdaggers up, she scored a slash across the second man's chest plates; not a wounding blow, but one meant to unbalance an opponent. The man staggered under the surprise melee strike, and Janada took advantage of his distraction to shove him off his feet with a well-placed kick.

She saw on her helmet's HUD readout that a helmetless woman was trying to rush her from behind. She easily ducked the blow and stabbed as she rose again, sinking her dagger into the female's unarmored ribs. The woman screamed, but remained standing. At least until Janada advanced and stabbed both blades between the gaps in her chest plates. The woman twitched, eyes wide, and fell limp.

Another attacker hit her from the side, grabbing her around the waist and knocking her away from her daggers. She grunted, but drove her armored knee into the man's faceplate, sending him flailing to the ground.

Another well-placed elbow strike crippled the first man, now recovered from his earlier topple and rushing at her from behind. The blow hit him in the throat and he crumpled with a gurgle, his esophagus crushed.

She ducked a blow from the fourth Death Watch trooper of the group, driving two stiff fingers into the sensitive bundle of nerves near his unarmored armpit. The man screamed and clutched at the affected area, hobbling away.

Janada was tackled from behind by the other, ever-persistent, Death Watch trooper. She felt hands reach around and pin her arms to the side, effectively immobilizing her.

She didn't need her hands to fight; she drove her helmet back into the other man's faceplate. He flinched, but didn't let go. She headbutted him again, then a third time. Finally, he grunted and was shaken free. She swiveled and followed up with a vicious crouching punch to the codpiece that knocked him to his knees. She shoved him onto his back, then stomped hard on his throat. He jerked once, then fell still.

Janada let out a low snarl, then walked back and yanked her longdaggers free from the dead Death Watch woman's torso. She pivoted just in time to drive her daggers into the final onrushing warrior. Her blades sank deep into the man's underarms, soaking his combat suit with blood. He stiffened, grasping at her shoulders with something akin to shock or surprise. Then he slumped and Janada shoved him aside with a choice selection of Mandalorian curses.

Blaster fire heralded the arrival of the rest of the enforcement office troopers. She turned to see gold-armored officers swarming up the tunnel behind her, the main force finally catching up to the advance scouts and the more overzealous fighters.

She looked down at the four dead _Kyr'tsad_ warriors with a sneer, then calmly wiped her blades on her pant leg and moved back down the tunnel, toward the other men and women fighting. She saw Denton Dral's bandaged forehead in the crowd and made her way over to him.

“I thought I told you to stick with the group,” he scolded as she drew near. His head wound prevented him from wearing a full helmet, and he fixed her with a scowl as she approached.

“I don't take orders from you,” she replied, sheathing her longdaggers. “Any news about Cin?”

“Nothing,” Dral said, relaying some quick orders to the enforcement officers around him. “Though we've received word that the Handmaiden has engaged Caranthyr about a half-mile north of our position. We're penning him in.”

“From this side,” she reminded him. “If these guys wanted, they could just retreat to the north. You really think one Echani is going to stop his entire group?”

“I think if it comes to that she's sure going to try.”

Janada shrugged and glanced down the tunnel. Caranthyr's forces were in full retreat across the city, scattered and running for their lives. For all the planning that had gone into their attack, the Death Watch troops had broken quickly once they had met serious resistance. The battle at MandalMotors was long since over, and in the sewers the enforcement office was cutting a wide swath through enemy territory.

Officially, they were ordered to take prisoners and show quarter, but Janada was making an exception. _With all these bad guys_, she reasoned, _who's going to miss four or five? I get my payback and the Goldies get their prisoners._

She was still keeping her promise to her little brother: if she came across Caranthyr, she'd take him alive. But Vhetin hadn't specified just _how_ alive, and even her promise didn't stop her from secretly hoping the Handmaiden snapped his neck like she had supposedly done with the Zeltron suspect earlier in the investigation.

“So where do we stand?” she asked.

“Cleanup, mostly,” Denton replied, popping off a warning shot down the tunnel. “Advanced Recon is reporting Caranthyr's base is pretty well-guarded, but nothing we can't handle. I'm actually pulling back most of the survivors from Rally Point Alpha, just to give them a rest. You're welcome to join them.”

“Kriff that,” she spat. “And kriff you while you're at it. I'm staying here.”

“Whatever you say,” he said, firing another shot at a retreating Death Watch soldier. “But this time stay with the group. I'm not going to have troops under my command wandering off and getting themselves killed.”

“You really think I'm going to just-”

“Look,” he interrupted tersely. “I'm in the middle of a kriffing operation here, with all of Keldabe and worse, Tobbi Dala, breathing down my neck. I don't have time to argue with you. Either stay with the group or I'll have a pair of officers escort you back to Beta. Your call.”

She glared at him through her faceplate, knowing it didn't matter because he couldn't see it anyway. Then she nodded and pulled her pistol from her belt. “All right, Boy Scout. I'll play by your rules for now.”

“Good,” he said. “We'll be coming up on Caranthyr's base soon. You should be thankful; if your brother survived, that's where he'll be.”

~~~~~~~~

**Caranthyr's Base, Keldabe City Sewers**

A well-placed blow to the back of the neck floored the first prison guard, effectively silencing him while Brianna snuck up behind the second and wrapped her arms around his neck. He instantly began to thrash about and struggle, but her iron grip soon plunged him into unconsciousness. Vhetin survyed the hall quickly, scanning for anyone else that could hinder their progress. Once he was sure they were in no immediate danger, he lowered his rifle.

“Good job. They didn't even see us coming.”

Brianna dragged her guard off into a secluded corner before making her way back to him, brushing her hands off. “I don't wear this getup just for show, you know. Less armor makes less noise.”

She hesitated, then smiled at him. “But thanks.”

He nodded, blushing a little behind his helmet. He cleared his throat awkwardly and gestured down the hall. “Prison bay's this way. Follow me.”

There were three more guards watching over the prison bay. Vhetin attacked first, drawing his _beskar_ sword and charging into the room. The first guard turned and raised his own blade in time to block Vhetin's blow. The clash of metal on metal drew the attention of the other two, who were swiftly engaged by Brianna.

Vhetin parried two swift slashes to his shoulders, turning his opponent's blade away with minimal effort. He advanced quickly and drove his armored knee into the Death Watch soldier's gut, their armor plates smashing together with a metallic crunch. The man staggered back, clutching his stomach plate, but managed to deflect all of Vhetin's attacks. A lucky slash to the arm ripped through Vhetin's flight suit, drawing blood and making him falter slightly. He fell back and raised his blade in a defensive posture, circling his opponent with narrowed eyes.

Normally he'd use a secondary weapon now, like a pistol or his flamethrower. But the only tools he had at his disposal were his stolen rifle – too hefty to use quickly – and his gauntlet blade – which was useless, as he needed two swords to wield his heavy _beskad_.

A few exploratory lunges and slashes later, and Vhetin decided enough was enough. The Death Watch soldier was tenacious and a good swordsman, but he didn't have time for games. Vhetin stepped forward and slashed with all his might. The blow, backed up by his superior Kiffar strength, knocked the Mandalorian's sword right out of his hands, sending it clattering away.

The battle had quickly drawn the attention of all the Mandalorian prisoners. Even now Vhetin could see them pressed up against the walls of their cell, safely out of range of the ray shields, watching the battle unfold with rapt attention. A few shouted words of encouragement to him or Brianna, still occupied with the two gunmen further down the hall.

Vhetin lunged forward when he saw the Death Watch soldier draw something from his belt. He was surprised, however, when the man didn't retreat; he moved forward as well. Vhetin tried to bring the blade of his sword down to stab through the man's chest, but wasn't fast enough. The other Mandalorian barreled into him, knocking him off balance. He felt something tight wrap around his throat and a high-pitched whine split the air, followed by a sharp click.

The next second, everything exploded into white-hot agony. Vhetin screamed and fell to his knees, clutching at his throat, now blocked by some angular, metallic device. The other man let out a nasty chuckle and stepped back, clutching at some kind of control chip. Vhetin weakly reached for it, but another wave of searing pain sent him onto all fours again.

“I'm gonna fry you,” the man hissed, “until smoke comes out your bleedin' arsehole.”

Vhetin let out a choked scream as the man hit a button, sending wave after wave of electricity through the device on his neck. His arms jerked uncontrollably, his legs shaking so badly they couldn't hold his weight. But he fought against the pain nonetheless, leaning on his sword as he rose to his feet. He staggered a little, then regained his balance, shaking with equal parts fury and agony.

The man faltered a little and pressed the button again. A fresh spike of burning pain washed over Vhetin, but he pushed it away with a grunt, gripping his sword tightly. He took a shaky, faltering step forward. The Death Watch guard took a mirrored step back.

“What...” the man said. “You're... you're supposed to be...”

Vhetin staggered at yet another bolt of electricity, but steadily advanced. Through clenched teeth, he snarled, “It takes... more than a little electricity... to put me down, _shabuir_.”

The man's back hit the wall, and he frantically looked around for an escape, pushing the button on his remote as quickly as he could. It didn't help him; as soon as Vhetin was close enough, he slashed horizontally with all the strength he could muster. His blade bit deep, tearing through flight suit and flesh alike. The man clutched at his throat, liquid crimson spurting from between his fingers, then fell and didn't rise again.

As soon as the dead man's finger left the trigger of his remote, the pain finally let up. Vhetin instantly collapsed to his hands and knees again, letting out a loud gasp of relief. His body was shaking uncontrollably, his vision swimming, and he couldn't feel his hands. But at the sound of battle behind him he managed to limp to his feet again, turning back to Brianna's battle.

She was being pressed back, further down the hall. There weren't many sources of cover in the prison bay besides the cells themselves, so she was forced to rely on her acrobatic T'orelli martial arts skills. She performed graceful spins and backflips to avoid incoming fire, looking more like a seasoned dancer than a woman fighting for her life. She had taken a few minor wounds to the arms and torso, but she looked like she was all right, at least for the moment.

Vhetin staggered forward and, without preamble, drove his sword under the man's ribs. He stiffened and screamed, blood leaking down his side. Vhetin yanked his blade free, shoving the man's body away, and leaned against the wall to catch his breath. Brianna took advantage of the sudden turn in the battle to roll to her feet and open up a volley with both of her pistols. The incoming storm of blaster fire floored the remaining Death Watch guard, her shots expertly placed at his neck and sides.

As the last man fell to the ground, Vhetin yanked ineffectively at the heavy device now wrapped around his neck. Brianna quickly holstered her pistols and sprinted up to him.

“Wait!” she said, drawing his hands away. “Don't touch that. Let me look.”

She leaned close and inspected the device. “Damn it. That bastard hit you with one of those shock collars.”

He sighed. “I figured as much. Any way you can get it off, or am I going to be electrocuted to death like Matt?”

She shook her head. “Cin... I don't know. If Janada were here, she might be able to do something, but...”

He nodded to the lightsaber still sheathed down her boot. “Think we can cut it off?”

“You really want to risk it?”

“I guess not,” he sighed. The pain was beginning to fade now, and he managed to stand on his own without stumbling or falling down now.

“Oi!” someone shouted from the cells. “Is that Cin Vhetin, or am I goin' crazy in here?”

“It's me,” Vhetin reassured the man. He moved back out to the center of the hall, where the prisoners could see him. “Brianna and I are here to get you guys out.”

He glanced at the huntress and jerked his head. “Find the controls,” he said. “I'll get a head count.”

She nodded and jogged further down the hall, looking for a control pad. Vhetin turned to the imprisoned Mandalorians. “Is everyone okay?”

“We're all fine,” a woman near the front said. “But.. well...”

She craned her neck and Vhetin saw the familiar shape of a bulky metal neck guard wrapped around her throat. It was identical to the model he'd been outfitted with. He cursed out loud, pacing back and forth in front of the cells.

“How many of you are outfitted?”

“All of us.”

“Kriff,” he hissed. “And let me guess; Caranthyr will blow the collars if you leave the base?”

The woman nodded. “He's got some kind of special motion detector. A few of our guys tried to make a run for it earlier... They didn't make it far. Don't think you will either.”

The ray shields flickered, then died. A low hum rang through the hall, then the cell doors rattled open. Brianna jogged back to them and said, “Caranthyr's men just got a call on the base-wide comm system. The Death Watch forces are falling back deeper into the sewers. It sounds like the enforcement office is pressing in on this location and will be here in less than twenty.”

“So what do you recommend?” someone in the group asked as the Mandalorian prisoners slowly moved out into the hall. There was a steady rumble of conversation building as families reunited and friends checked for each other. Steadily, they began gathering around Vhetin and Brianna, looking to them for guidance.

“What do you say?” Vhetin said to Brianna. “Hole up here? Wait for reinforcements?”

She nodded and unslung the heavy pack over her shoulder. “I have enough weapons to go around. Take what you need and pass the rest around. We'll keep Caranthyr's troops back until the enforcement office gets here.”

“And what about these kriffing collars?”

“There's nothing we can do about them now,” Vhetin said, tugging at his own collar in irritation. “Our best bet is to wait for the enforcement office and hope they can get some medics down here.”

“That seems like a long shot,” a short, bearded man grumbled.

“You want to take your chances with Caranthyr's traps and sensors?” Vhetin asked. He pointed down the hall. “There's the door. Don't trip on your way out.”

The bearded man looked to the door, then scratched his cheek and shook his head. “Nah. I'm good.”

“Good,” Vhetin said. “Then grab a rifle and keep an eye on the doors. I don't think any more of Caranthyr's men are going to be heading down here, but it pays to be safe. If anyone spots gold armor, give a shout.”

Vhetin reached for his rifle, but Brianna touched his arm. “Cin, why don't you sit this one out?”

He stared at her. “Please tell me you're joking.”

“I'm not,” she said. “Your hands are seriously burned, you've got a potentially deadly electro-shock collar around your neck, and you're still sick from those Imperial experiments. I think between me and the rest of these people, we can handle anything the _Kyr'tsad_ can throw at us. You can rest.”

He glanced between Brianna and the other Mandalorians slowly beginning to break up throughout the hall. It was true he was exhausted, wounded, and in no real state to be fighting. His radiation-seared hands burned at the slightest touch and his entire body ached. But as he watched the other prisoners surrounding him, grabbing weapons and thanking him for their rescue, he knew they were in no better shape than he was.

So he pulled his rifle closer to his chest and said, “No. You know me better than that, Brianna. I wouldn't just stand by and let others fight for me. I'll rest when this is all over.”

“Cin...”

“I've made up my mind,” he said forcefully, shouldering his rifle. “I'll be near the northern entrance, where we came through, if you need me.”


	19. Rescued

**Keldabe City Sewers**

Janada ducked behind a protruding pipe, pulling her longdaggers close to her chest. She could hear the shouts and screams of the Death Watch troopers just beyond her, sliced down by blasterfire and swords alike. Her armor was stained with blood, mixing with the deep scarlet of her plates. She narrowed her eyes at her TacHUD display, the red-orange holographic readout showing a mass of four troops just beyond her hiding place. She clenched her fists around the hilts of her daggers, then threw herself out into the tunnel.

_These Death Watch _shabuire_ are attentive, I can certainly give 'em that._ She was hit by three shots to the chest plates before she was on top of them. Her progress was slowed by the enemy fire, but not halted. She threw her shoulder into the first man, knocking him off his feet. Drawing her longdaggers up, she scored a slash across the second man's chest plates; not a wounding blow, but one meant to unbalance an opponent. The man staggered under the surprise melee strike, and Janada took advantage of his distraction to shove him off his feet with a well-placed kick.

She saw on her helmet's HUD readout that a helmetless woman was trying to rush her from behind. She easily ducked the blow and stabbed as she rose again, sinking her dagger into the female's unarmored ribs. The woman screamed, but remained standing. At least until Janada advanced and stabbed both blades between the gaps in her chest plates. The woman twitched, eyes wide, and fell limp.

Another attacker hit her from the side, grabbing her around the waist and knocking her away from her daggers. She grunted, but drove her armored knee into the man's faceplate, sending him flailing to the ground.

Another well-placed elbow strike crippled the first man, now recovered from his earlier topple and rushing at her from behind. The blow hit him in the throat and he crumpled with a gurgle, his esophagus crushed.

She ducked a blow from the fourth Death Watch trooper of the group, driving two stiff fingers into the sensitive bundle of nerves near his unarmored armpit. The man screamed and clutched at the affected area, hobbling away.

Janada was tackled from behind by the other, ever-persistent, Death Watch trooper. She felt hands reach around and pin her arms to the side, effectively immobilizing her.

She didn't need her hands to fight; she drove her helmet back into the other man's faceplate. He flinched, but didn't let go. She headbutted him again, then a third time. Finally, he grunted and was shaken free. She swiveled and followed up with a vicious crouching punch to the codpiece that knocked him to his knees. She shoved him onto his back, then stomped hard on his throat. He jerked once, then fell still.

Janada let out a low snarl, then walked back and yanked her longdaggers free from the dead Death Watch woman's torso. She pivoted just in time to drive her daggers into the final onrushing warrior. Her blades sank deep into the man's underarms, soaking his combat suit with blood. He stiffened, grasping at her shoulders with something akin to shock or surprise. Then he slumped and Janada shoved him aside with a choice selection of Mandalorian curses.

Blaster fire heralded the arrival of the rest of the enforcement office troopers. She turned to see gold-armored officers swarming up the tunnel behind her, the main force finally catching up to the advance scouts and the more overzealous fighters.

She looked down at the four dead _Kyr'tsad_ warriors with a sneer, then calmly wiped her blades on her pant leg and moved back down the tunnel, toward the other men and women fighting. She saw Denton Dral's bandaged forehead in the crowd and made her way over to him.

“I thought I told you to stick with the group,” he scolded as she drew near. His head wound prevented him from wearing a full helmet, and he fixed her with a scowl as she approached.

“I don't take orders from you,” she replied, sheathing her longdaggers. “Any news about Cin?”

“Nothing,” Dral said, relaying some quick orders to the enforcement officers around him. “Though we've received word that the Handmaiden has engaged Caranthyr about a half-mile north of our position. We're penning him in.”

“From this side,” she reminded him. “If these guys wanted, they could just retreat to the north. You really think one Echani is going to stop his entire group?”

“I think if it comes to that she's sure going to try.”

Janada shrugged and glanced down the tunnel. Caranthyr's forces were in full retreat across the city, scattered and running for their lives. For all the planning that had gone into their attack, the Death Watch troops had broken quickly once they had met serious resistance. The battle at MandalMotors was long since over, and in the sewers the enforcement office was cutting a wide swath through enemy territory.

Officially, they were ordered to take prisoners and show quarter, but Janada was making an exception. _With all these bad guys_, she reasoned, _who's going to miss four or five? I get my payback and the Goldies get their prisoners._

She was still keeping her promise to her little brother: if she came across Caranthyr, she'd take him alive. But Vhetin hadn't specified just _how_ alive, and even her promise didn't stop her from secretly hoping the Handmaiden snapped his neck like she had supposedly done with the Zeltron suspect earlier in the investigation.

“So where do we stand?” she asked.

“Cleanup, mostly,” Denton replied, popping off a warning shot down the tunnel. “Advanced Recon is reporting Caranthyr's base is pretty well-guarded, but nothing we can't handle. I'm actually pulling back most of the survivors from Rally Point Alpha, just to give them a rest. You're welcome to join them.”

“Kriff that,” she spat. “And kriff you while you're at it. I'm staying here.”

“Whatever you say,” he said, firing another shot at a retreating Death Watch soldier. “But this time stay with the group. I'm not going to have troops under my command wandering off and getting themselves killed.”

“You really think I'm going to just-”

“Look,” he interrupted tersely. “I'm in the middle of a kriffing operation here, with all of Keldabe and worse, Tobbi Dala, breathing down my neck. I don't have time to argue with you. Either stay with the group or I'll have a pair of officers escort you back to Beta. Your call.”

She glared at him through her faceplate, knowing it didn't matter because he couldn't see it anyway. Then she nodded and pulled her pistol from her belt. “All right, Boy Scout. I'll play by your rules for now.”

“Good,” he said. “We'll be coming up on Caranthyr's base soon. You should be thankful; if your brother survived, that's where he'll be.”

~~~~~~~~

**Caranthyr's base, Keldabe City Sewers**

A well-placed blow to the back of the neck floored the first prison guard, effectively silencing him while Brianna snuck up behind the second and wrapped her arms around his neck. He instantly began to thrash about and struggle, but her iron grip soon plunged him into unconsciousness. Vhetin survyed the hall quickly, scanning for anyone else that could hinder their progress. Once he was sure they were in no immediate danger, he lowered his rifle.

“Good job. They didn't even see us coming.”

Brianna dragged her guard off into a secluded corner before making her way back to him, brushing her hands off. “I don't wear this getup just for show, you know. Less armor makes less noise.”

She hesitated, then smiled at him. “But thanks.”

He nodded, blushing a little behind his helmet. He cleared his throat awkwardly and gestured down the hall. “Prison bay's this way. Follow me.”

There were three more guards watching over the prison bay. Vhetin attacked first, drawing his _beskar_ sword and charging into the room. The first guard turned and raised his own blade in time to block Vhetin's blow. The clash of metal on metal drew the attention of the other two, who were swiftly engaged by Brianna.

Vhetin parried two swift slashes to his shoulders, turning his opponent's blade away with minimal effort. He advanced quickly and drove his armored knee into the Death Watch soldier's gut, their armor plates smashing together with a metallic crunch. The man staggered back, clutching his stomach plate, but managed to deflect all of Vhetin's attacks. A lucky slash to the arm ripped through Vhetin's flight suit, drawing blood and making him falter slightly. He fell back and raised his blade in a defensive posture, circling his opponent with narrowed eyes.

Normally he'd use a secondary weapon now, like a pistol or his flamethrower. But the only tools he had at his disposal were his stolen rifle – too hefty to use quickly – and his gauntlet blade – which was useless, as he needed two swords to wield his heavy _beskad_.

A few exploratory lunges and slashes later, and Vhetin decided enough was enough. The Death Watch soldier was tenacious and a good swordsman, but he didn't have time for games. Vhetin stepped forward and slashed with all his might. The blow, backed up by his superior Kiffar strength, knocked the Mandalorian's sword right out of his hands, sending it clattering away.

The battle had quickly drawn the attention of all the Mandalorian prisoners. Even now Vhetin could see them pressed up against the walls of their cell, safely out of range of the ray shields, watching the battle unfold with rapt attention. A few shouted words of encouragement to him or Brianna, still occupied with the two gunmen further down the hall.

Vhetin lunged forward when he saw the Death Watch soldier draw something from his belt. He was surprised, however, when the man didn't retreat; he moved forward as well. Vhetin tried to bring the blade of his sword down to stab through the man's chest, but wasn't fast enough. The other Mandalorian barreled into him, knocking him off balance. He felt something tight wrap around his throat and a high-pitched whine split the air, followed by a sharp click.

The next second, everything exploded into white-hot agony. Vhetin screamed and fell to his knees, clutching at his throat, now blocked by some angular, metallic device. The other man let out a nasty chuckle and stepped back, clutching at some kind of control chip. Vhetin weakly reached for it, but another wave of searing pain sent him onto all fours again.

“I'm gonna fry you,” the man hissed, “until smoke comes out your bleedin' arsehole.”

Vhetin let out a choked scream as the man hit a button, sending wave after wave of electricity through the device on his neck. His arms jerked uncontrollably, his legs shaking so badly they couldn't hold his weight. But he fought against the pain nonetheless, leaning on his sword as he rose to his feet. He staggered a little, then regained his balance, shaking with equal parts fury and agony.

The man faltered a little and pressed the button again. A fresh spike of burning pain washed over Vhetin, but he pushed it away with a grunt, gripping his sword tightly. He took a shaky, faltering step forward. The Death Watch guard took a mirrored step back.

“What...” the man said. “You're... you're supposed to be...”

Vhetin staggered at yet another bolt of electricity, but steadily advanced. Through clenched teeth, he snarled, “It takes... more than a little electricity... to put me down, _shabuir_.”

The man's back hit the wall, and he frantically looked around for an escape, pushing the button on his remote as quickly as he could. It didn't help him; as soon as Vhetin was close enough, he slashed horizontally with all the strength he could muster. His blade bit deep, tearing through flight suit and flesh alike. The man clutched at his throat, liquid crimson spurting from between his fingers, then fell and didn't rise again.

As soon as the dead man's finger left the trigger of his remote, the pain finally let up. Vhetin instantly collapsed to his hands and knees again, letting out a loud gasp of relief. His body was shaking uncontrollably, his vision swimming, and he couldn't feel his hands. But at the sound of battle behind him he managed to limp to his feet again, turning back to Brianna's battle.

She was being pressed back, further down the hall. There weren't many sources of cover in the prison bay besides the cells themselves, so she was forced to rely on her acrobatic T'orelli martial arts skills. She performed graceful spins and backflips to avoid incoming fire, looking more like a seasoned dancer than a woman fighting for her life. She had taken a few minor wounds to the arms and torso, but she looked like she was all right, at least for the moment.

Vhetin staggered forward and, without preamble, drove his sword under the man's ribs. He stiffened and screamed, blood leaking down his side. Vhetin yanked his blade free, shoving the man's body away, and leaned against the wall to catch his breath. Brianna took advantage of the sudden turn in the battle to roll to her feet and open up a volley with both of her pistols. The incoming storm of blaster fire floored the remaining Death Watch guard, her shots expertly placed at his neck and sides.

As the last man fell to the ground, Vhetin yanked ineffectively at the heavy device now wrapped around his neck. Brianna quickly holstered her pistols and sprinted up to him.

“Wait!” she said, drawing his hands away. “Don't touch that. Let me look.”

She leaned close and inspected the device. “Damn it. That bastard hit you with one of those shock collars.”

He sighed. “I figured as much. Any way you can get it off, or am I going to be electrocuted to death like Matt?”

She shook her head. “Cin... I don't know. If Janada were here, she might be able to do something, but...”

He nodded to the lightsaber still sheathed down her boot. “Think we can cut it off?”

“You really want to risk it?”

“I guess not,” he sighed. The pain was beginning to fade now, and he managed to stand on his own without stumbling or falling down now.

“Oi!” someone shouted from the cells. “Is that Cin Vhetin, or am I goin' crazy in here?”

“It's me,” Vhetin reassured the man. He moved back out to the center of the hall, where the prisoners could see him. “Brianna and I are here to get you guys out.”

He glanced at the huntress and jerked his head. “Find the controls,” he said. “I'll get a head count.”

She nodded and jogged further down the hall, looking for a control pad. Vhetin turned to the imprisoned Mandalorians. “Is everyone okay?”

“We're all fine,” a woman near the front said. “But.. well...”

She craned her neck and Vhetin saw the familiar shape of a bulky metal neck guard wrapped around her throat. It was identical to the model he'd been outfitted with. He cursed out loud, pacing back and forth in front of the cells.

“How many of you are outfitted?”

“All of us.”

“Kriff,” he hissed. “And let me guess; Caranthyr will blow the collars if you leave the base?”

The woman nodded. “He's got some kind of special motion detector. A few of our guys tried to make a run for it earlier... They didn't make it far. Don't think you will either.”

The ray shields flickered, then died. A low hum rang through the hall, then the cell doors rattled open. Brianna jogged back to them and said, “Caranthyr's men just got a call on the base-wide comm system. The Death Watch forces are falling back deeper into the sewers. It sounds like the enforcement office is pressing in on this location and will be here in less than twenty.”

“So what do you recommend?” someone in the group asked as the Mandalorian prisoners slowly moved out into the hall. There was a steady rumble of conversation building as families reunited and friends checked for each other. Steadily, they began gathering around Vhetin and Brianna, looking to them for guidance.

“What do you say?” Vhetin said to Brianna. “Hole up here? Wait for reinforcements?”

She nodded and unslung the heavy pack over her shoulder. “I have enough weapons to go around. Take what you need and pass the rest around. We'll keep Caranthyr's troops back until the enforcement office gets here.”

“And what about these kriffing collars?”

“There's nothing we can do about them now,” Vhetin said, tugging at his own collar in irritation. “Our best bet is to wait for the enforcement office and hope they can get some medics down here.”

“That seems like a long shot,” a short, bearded man grumbled.

“You want to take your chances with Caranthyr's traps and sensors?” Vhetin asked. He pointed down the hall. “There's the door. Don't trip on your way out.”

The bearded man looked to the door, then scratched his cheek and shook his head. “Nah. I'm good.”

“Good,” Vhetin said. “Then grab a rifle and keep an eye on the doors. I don't think any more of Caranthyr's men are going to be heading down here, but it pays to be safe. If anyone spots gold armor, give a shout.”

Vhetin reached for his rifle, but Brianna touched his arm. “Cin, why don't you sit this one out?”

He stared at her. “Please tell me you're joking.”

“I'm not,” she said. “Your hands are seriously burned, you've got a potentially deadly electro-shock collar around your neck, and you're still sick from those Imperial experiments. I think between me and the rest of these people, we can handle anything the _Kyr'tsad_ can throw at us. You can rest.”

He glanced between Brianna and the other Mandalorians slowly beginning to break up throughout the hall. It was true he was exhausted, wounded, and in no real state to be fighting. His radiation-seared hands burned at the slightest touch and his entire body ached. But as he watched the other prisoners surrounding him, grabbing weapons and thanking him for their rescue, he knew they were in no better shape than he was.

So he pulled his rifle closer to his chest and said, “No. You know me better than that, Brianna. I wouldn't just stand by and let others fight for me. I'll rest when this is all over.”

“Cin...”

“I've made up my mind,” he said forcefully, shouldering his rifle. “I'll be near the northern entrance, where we came through, if you need me.”

~~~~~~~~

The Handmaiden threw herself into a sliding kick, flashing under D'harhan's meaty, flailing arm. She tucked herself into a roll and came to her feet, leaping onto the massive alien's back once again. For all his might, this was one of his few weak points, where he was almost defenseless. She drove her fist into the gap created by her quarterstaff stab, plunging her arm up to the shoulder in the alien's cybernetics. Thick, viscous coolant fluid coated her arm and stained her combat suit, but she groped around in D'harhan's neck for a moment before her fingers curled around a heavy rubberized tube.

She set her jaw and pulled with all her might. There was a shower of sparks and a grating, stuttering scream from the alien beneath her. D'harhan bucked beneath her and she went flying, crashing to the stone with a pained grunt.

D'harhan flailed, clutching at his head-cannon as he stomped and roared. His cannon was hanging limp, as if power had been cut to his cannon. His tail twitched randomly, clenching and unclenching the grasping appendage with a metallic screeching.

The Handmaiden rolled back to her feet and drew her quarterstaff, breathing hard. “Give it up, brute. You are outmatched.”

But D'harhan was far from defeated. The Handmaiden barely had time to leap away before D'harhan grabbed a piece of rubble the size of the Handmaiden's torso. He hefted it above his limp, unresponsive head, then hurled it at her. She rolled to the side, tucking her quarterstaff close to her chest. Coming to her feet again, she raised her quarterstaff and threw it like an ancient Echani battle spear. The staff whistled through the air and hit him in the chest, piercing his reflective black armor and sending sparks flying everywhere. He flinched, giving the Handmaiden enough of an opening to sprint at him as quickly as her feet could carry her.

She closed the gap between them in record time, leaping into the air and preparing to swing onto his back yet again.

D'harhan's segmented cybernetic tail flashed out toward her before she could avoid it. The grasping appendage stretched open, reaching for her, and slammed against her face. The razor-sharp blades of the appendage closed around her head, holding her in the air. Her forward momentum was swiftly and painfully halted, and she clutched at the tail in a vain attempt to free herself.

D'hahran crippled her with a massive punch to the solar plexus that left her gasping for breath. He then hoisted her further into the air and slammed her forcefully into the stone beneath his feet. He then pulled her up and smashed her against the floor again. And again.

After another devastating blow, he finally retracted his tail, letting it snake back over his shoulder. He clenched his massive fists and rumbled, _“YOU HAVE PROVEN YOURSELF A FORMIDABLE FOE, FLESHLING. BUT YOU CANNOT DEFEAT ME. STRONGER FOES THAN YOU HAVE TRIED, AND YET I STILL STAND._”

The Handmaiden coughed and rolled onto her stomach, clutching at her side. Towering above her, D'harhan ripped her quarterstaff from his neck and snapped it in half between two giant fists. Tossing the two fragments aside, he stepped forward and reached down to grab her again. His thick fingers wrapped around her throat and pulled her into the air, her feet dangling almost a meter off the ground. As she watched, his prosthetic tail slithered up over his shoulder again, rearing back like the tail of a striking sandscorpion.

“_MEET YOUR END WITH PEACE AND DIGNITY, TINY WARRIOR_.”

Before he could move, the Handmaiden reached out and stabbed something into the cybernetics in his neck. As soon as the tiny rod hit his throat, D'harhan reared back, flailing and roaring. He dropped her and staggered away, clutching at his neck. Sparks flew through the air and he shook his head-cannon and howled in his synthetic baritone voice.

The Handmaiden clambered to her feet, still holding her ribs. Limping slightly, she moved forward, toward the gigantic cyborg. She easily ducked one of his flailing arms, driving her heel into the back of one knee. D'harhan fell to his hands and knees with a deep buzz, his tail falling limp and a deep rattle coming from deep in his chest.

“An Echani is never helpless,” The Handmaiden panted, grabbing his neck yet again. “I learned long ago that if I lost my staff, I could resort to a short-range electro-shock dagger. If that fails, I have further contingencies. Any worthy warrior would think the same.”

She shook her head. “A brute till the end. How disappointing.”

She yanked the electro-shock dagger from his neck, then plunged it into a tangle of wires near his shoulder blades. An arch of brilliant blue-white lightning raced from the blade to his body. He let out a deep rumble again, his body shaking from the electric overload. The Handmaiden clambered up onto his back again, muttering, “Now... where did Caranthyr violate you?”

She pried open two thick metal plates on the back of his neck and began rummaging around through the wires within. D'harhan let out a weak groan and tried to shake her free to no avail. His tail sluggishly rose up to poke at her, but she batted it away like an annoying fly and continued her search.

The inside of D'harhan's cannon was a bundle of wires, tubes, and control boxes. Everything was coated in a sticky grayish slime, possibly to facilitate the union of machine and flesh. She pushed a cluster of wires to one side and suddenly saw a small, glowing blue box attached to a thick support cable vaguely reminiscent of a human spinal column.

“Hello there,” she murmured, grimacing as a spurt of grayish liquid shot out of the gap in his neck plates. “What are you?”

“_NO!”_ D'harhan groaned. He tried to rise to his feet, but fell to his knees again. “_DO NOT-_”

She didn't give him time to finish. She grasped the glowing box and ripped it away, taking a heavy bundle of wires with it. D'harhan let out a warbling screech and collapsed forward, falling limp to the ground. There was a low buzz from his cannon, which slowly grew lower and softer until it died. The status lights scattered across the cyborg's cybernetics flickered, then died.

The Handmaiden let her shoulders slump from exhaustion and fell off the alien. She eased herself into a sitting position, reaching out and gathering up the splintered pieces of her quarterstaff and clutching them close to her chest. She looked down at the glowing blue box clutched in her hand, narrowing her eyes.

_All this misery,_ she thought. _All this pain. All from these little boxes?_

She couldn't pretend to know how Caranthyr managed to control his slaves. All she needed to know was that removing these little glowing boxes shut them down, possibly for good. She glanced over at D'harhan, who was still lying motionless on the damp ground. His status lights were dark and his segmented tail was resting limp against the stone, unmoving. The Handmaiden absently wondered if he was dead or just unconscious, then realized she simply didn't care.

_Still_, she thought, fighting the inevitable adrenaline crash bearing down on her, _the Mandalorians should be informed of the developments here._

With a grimace, she reached up and triggered her comm. “This is the Handmaiden,” she panted. “D'harhan is no longer a threat. I have neutralized him.”

There was a long pause, long enough for her to question whether her Mandalorian handler had received the message. Finally, the comm channel crackled and the man spoke.

“_And Caranthyr?”_

The Handmaiden looked around the dark sewer intersection, then sighed and let her head thump painfully against the stone wall behind her. She scowled and muttered, “He... he escaped. Vanished into the sewers.”

“Osi'kyr,” the man sighed. “_You're sure?__”_

“I have nothing to gain from aiding a terrorist, Mandalorian,” she snapped. “He escaped into the tunnels while I was preoccupied with D'harhan.”

“_Kriff! Shysa won't be pleased to hear that_.”

“His pleasure is not my concern,” she said. She hesitated, then bit back a curse and said, “For what it is worth... I am sorry. He should not have escaped me.”

“_You said he was injured, right? Maybe one of the enforcement officers will pick him up while they're clearing his base.__”_

“Perhaps,” she said, though the words tasted hollow. Caranthyr had managed to stay a step ahead of all his pursuers so far. She wouldn't be surprised if he managed it again.

From her handler's tone of voice, it sounded like he was thinking the same thing. But he managed to maintain some semblance of optimism as he said, “_But you got D'harhan, right? That's gotta count for something.__”_

“Indeed.”

“_Is he dead?”_

She sighed and stumbled to her feet again. It took all her remaining strength to roll the gigantic cyborg onto his back. Once done, she pressed her palm against his leathery green chest and closed her eyes. She tuned out all other sounds, focusing solely on the sensations beneath her palm.

_Thud... thud..._

Her eyes snapped open. His heartbeat was there; lethargic, but still beating. She nodded to herself and reported, “Yes. He lives.”

“_Good. _Mand'alor_ Shysa will have a lot of questions for him. For you both, probably.”_

She returned to her seated position, cradling her shattered quarterstaff in her arms. “I will remain here and ensure he does not awaken again. In the interim, send message to all the troops opposing Caranthyr and inform them that the key to disabling his control is a small blue box implanted along the spinal column. Look near the back of his collars.”

“_Affirmative,” _the Mandalorian replied. “_We'll spread the word. And Echani?”_

She raised a single pale eyebrow. “Yes?”

There was a long pause. When he spoke again, there was a modicum of grudging respect in his voice.

“_Good work. You've done a great service for the people of Mandalore today. It won't be forgotten._”

“You would do well to forget it already,” she shot back. “I did not do it for the Mandalorian people. Besides, my failure to capture Caranthyr counteracts any gratitude you feel inclined to show. Honor those who truly deserve it.”

“_As you wish_.”

He cut off the transmission and the Handmaiden let her head rest against the wall again. She looked over at D'harhan, who was still lying unconscious. Then she finally let her eyes drift closed and felt the tension gradually begin to drain out of her.

Like D'harhan, she didn't move again for a long time.

~~~~~~~~

**Caranthyr's base, Keldabe City Sewers**

The Mandalorians quickly jumped into action at the sound of a multitude of approaching bootsteps from somewhere deeper in the base. Vhetin pressed himself into the doorway of an open cell, sighting down his rifle at the single doorway at the end of the hall. Brianna was close by, settling herself into a prone position to present a smaller target for any potential enemies.

“When they walk through that door,” grunted a thin man to Vhetin's right, “I'm going to kill them in the slowest way possible. Those _Kyr'tsad_ bastards deserve to suffer for what they did here.”

Vhetin said nothing, just narrowed his eyes and waited for the enemy to present itself. They had heard sounds coming from further in the facility earlier, sounds of blaster fire and shouting, but so far no one had bothered to come to the prison bay.

Several of the prisoners were children, young boys and girls who had already started their training but weren't ready for a true firefight yet. Several of the prisoners ushered the kids to the back of the group, standing over them like sentinals. Vhetin was sure that if it came down to a fight, the Mandalorians would fight even harder to protect those children.

Finally, they were able to hear voices outside the hall, coming closer with every passing second.

“_Fan out! Secure the area and don't let any of those shabuire through!”_

There were answering shouts of acknowledgment and Vhetin heard the telltale sounds of the doorpad outside being sliced. A moment later the door slid open and the prison hall echoed with the sounds of over twenty different rifles cycling up to fire.

A moment later, someone shouted, “Hold! Hold!”

The figure in the doorway stepped forward with his hands raised in surrender. As he stepped into the light, Vhetin saw polished gold armor and the angular black mythosaur skull on the man's shoulder plate. As he moved further into the hall, several more Mandalorians followed behind him, weapons lowered but still ready to be fired at a moment's notice.

“Enforcement office!” he shouted. “Hold fire!”

The Mandalorian prisoners heeded the man's command and held their fire, but no one besides Vhetin lowered their rifle. Vhetin leaned out a little farther from the cell, watching the man closely. “Identify yourself!”

The man didn't lower his hands. “Officer Pilu, sir. Eight district, under Sergeant Volpe.”

“How did you get here?”

He gestured over his shoulder. “A strike team from Rally Point Beta. Officer Dral led the assault and pushed back what was left of Caranthyr's people.”

“How?” Vhetin said. “Caranthyr had us outnumbered and outgunned. How did you manage to push him back?”

“He lost a lot of men when he caved in the tunnel at Rally Point Alpha,” the man explained. “His forces were already weakened, and throwing his people at Beta only cost him more men.”

“That doesn't answer the question,” Vhetin said. “_We_ were the ones who were lacking manpower. How did you manage to get enough people to counterattack?”

“Shysa managed to escape the assassination attempt up top. Apparently some _aruetii_ woman helped him escape.”

Vhetin found himself grinning, despite the tension of the situation. _I knew I could count on Jay. Still, I'm surprised she managed to do so well._

“After they drove off Caranthyr up top,” the officer continued, “Shysa was able to send out summons to the Protectors. They secured MandalMotors, then sent over one hundred troops to help us down here.”

Vhetin hesitated, then stepped out to the center of the hallway. “Caranthyr's pulled some freaky _osik_ these past few days. How can we know you're telling the truth?”

The man pondered over this, then shrugged. “I can't prove anything. You're just going to have to trust me.”

Vhetin frowned. He had no guarantee that these weren't just Caranthyr's men trying to trick them. But if he couldn't trust his own Mandalorian brothers, who could he trust?

He walked forward and stared at the gold-armored man and his fellows. If they were Caranthyr's men in disguise, they were all as talented as Caranthyr himself in the art of deception. Their uniforms were all exactly as Vhetin remembered, with no signs of suspicious stab wounds or gunshot burns that would suggest the suits had been taken from dead officers.

The head officer fidgeted, then held out a hand. “If I may...”

Vhetin stared at the man's hand, then nodded and shook it. As soon as he did, he heard a collective sigh of relief from the men, women, and children behind him. Seconds later, a series of clicks and buzzes as their stolen rifles cycled down.

The officer nodded. “It's damn good to see you all alive, sir.”

A second later a blur of scarlet rushed through the door and all but tackled Vhetin with a clatter of armor plates, wrapping him in a tight hug. Vhetin staggered a little, letting out a surprised laugh.

“You bastard!” Janada snapped, hugging him tighter. “You insane, suicidal _bastard! _I've never been so glad to see your sorry ass.”

He grinned. “It's good to see you too, Jan.”

She drew back, holding him at arm's length. Then she suddenly surged forward and smashed her helmet against his. He recoiled from the blow, letting out a curse, holding his faceplate.

“What the hell was _that_ for?”

“That,” she said, finally letting him go and folding her arms, “was for almost dying. Make sure that never happens again.”

“Ah... no promises,” Vhetin said, shaking his throbbing head. “There never are in this profession.”

The Mandalorians were slowly mingling with the enforcement officers, trading hugs or handshakes or – following Janada's lead – affectionately-named Keldabe Kisses. Brianna, grinning widely, stepped up behind Vhetin and said, “Nice to see you alive, Janada.”

The woman pulled her helmet off and fixed the huntress with a happy grin. “Same to you, _aruetii_. If I couldn't chew your ass and yell at you about your dipshit boyfriend, what would I do with my time?”

“What happened with Caranthyr?” Vhetin asked. “What's Shysa going to do with him?”

Janada's smile faltered. “Yeah... um... We didn't get him.”

Vhetin stared at her. “_What_?”

“Jay sicced the Echani wierdo on him and she got bogged down in a fight with D'harhan. Caranthyr managed to slip away in the confusion.”

“Damn it,” Vhetin said. “Seriously? All this trouble and we still didn't get him?”

Janada nodded. “I know. But we managed to take a lot of his men captive – you're welcome, by the way – so one of them will probably spill their guts out.”

She clapped his shoulder. “But that's not our problem any more. I got to spill _Kyr'tsad_ blood, you managed to survive with your ass intact-”

“More or less,” Vhetin muttered, grimacing as he flexed his irradiated hands.

“-and everyone is coming back safe and sound. Shysa's pulling all the private contractors back. The enforcement office is taking things from here.”

Vhetin nodded. “After all the _osik_ we've been through, we could use a break.”

“Break later,” Brianna said. “First thing we're doing is getting you to a medic.”

Janada's face instantly pulled down into a worried frown. She stared at Vhetin with a dangerous, smoldering look in her eyes. “A medic? Are you injured?”

He shifted his feet. “Yeah...”

She narrowed her eyes. “Stripes... what did you do?”

“I kind of... kind of gave myself radiation poisoning trying to get out of our cell.”

“You _what_?!”


	20. Picking Up the Pieces

**Mand'alor's offices, Keldabe City Center, six hours later**

Shysa's chest was bound tightly with bandages, forcing him to go without his chest plates. The lack of his combat vest made him look unexpectedly smaller in stature. But apart from his wound and his drawn and exhausted expression, he looked fine. Since the assault, he'd taken to carrying his ancient longsword everywhere he went, slung over one shoulder with a thick leather strap.

Jay, meanwhile, had her arm in a sling and a thick bandage wrapped under her shoulder. After the attack, the medics had quickly gotten to work, stitching her arm together with painful precision. After cleaning and dressing the wound, the gray-haired medic assigned to Jay had sternly told her to relax for the next few weeks and give the wound time to heal. After the ordeals of the past days, the last thing she was going to do was exert herself. She had earned a rest.

Shysa was currently engaged in conversation with a grim-looking Tobbi Dala and two expressionless, green-armored Protectors. Shysa was giving them their new deployment orders now that Caranthyr's base had been cleared and the last of his prisoners freed and sent to the local medcenter for recovery.

“I want you to keep sweepin' the sewers,” the _Mand'alor_ was saying. “It's like a kriffin' maze down there an' I don' want Caranthyr and his boys regrouping and pickin' up right where they left off.”

“The boys won't be happy about slugging through the sewers,” Dala growled. “But they all know how important it is. We'll get it done.”

“An' make sure to give the enforcement officers a public commendation. Particularly the barricade squad. They lost a lot of men these last few days.”

“Losing Gundark was a particularly severe blow to morale,” Dala agreed.

“Aye. Let everyone in Keldabe know who's responsible for stoppin' these terrorist attacks. And send my condolences to the families of the fallen; I'll prepare a speech to deliver personally, but they need to know quickly how we mourn their losses.”

Dala nodded. “Aye, sir.”

“And I believe you had some info for me, Tobbi?”

“I did. I'm putting together a specialized anti-terrorism task force from the local enforcement offices. Caranthyr had a frighteningly large number of Mandalorians backing him up, and that kind of mobilization doesn't happen overnight.”

Shysa nodded, rubbing his chin. “Aye. He musta been plannin' this coup attempt for months. Years even. An' right under our noses.”

“Yes. I want the enforcement office to ensure that never happens again. I've already sent out personnel requests to the offices, asking for men who performed above and beyond the call during the assault.”

Shysa nodded, staring absently at the surface of his desk. “Who'd you have in mind?”

“My first choices already volunteered to join: Olia Vashiir,” Dala listed, counting off on his fingers, “Talyc Kakrin, Ben Por. Trainee Khale Ruusan. And Denton Dral as the first team coordinator.”

Jay raised an eyebrow, barely even trying to conceal her smile. “Oh? I thought you didn't think that highly of him.”

“I didn't,” Dala said. “I still don't. But there's no denying that without his logistical skills, we wouldn't have done half as well in the sewers. _Te Manda_ knows your partner didn't exactly inspire confidence.”

“He managed to rescue the last of Caranthyr's prisoners.”

“After he lost our forward rally point.”

“He also managed to save the majority of the troops stationed there.”

“But he _lost_ the rally point,” Dala pressed. “Caranthyr wouldn't have gotten away if our troops had been spread out more. Losing that rally point was a severe blow to our offensive.”

“He didn't _lose_ the rally point,” Jay said indignantly. “Caranthyr blew up the kriffing tunnel and caved it in on his head!”

Dala was about to say more when Shysa held up a hand to silence them both. “Vhetin's part in this was good and bad. You're both right. He lost the rally point, but he and his companions managed to save quite a few _Mando'ade_ who would have been killed otherwise. So leave it at that. Dala, you're dismissed.”

Dala glared at Jay, but held his fist to his chest plates in salute and bowed his head. “_Mand'alor_.”

Then he and his Protectors marched out of the room, letting the mechanized door hiss shut behind him. After he left, Shysa sighed and rubbed his eyes. “That man is my best pal in the world, but even I have to admit he's a bit of an ass.”

Jay grinned. “Sometimes those are the best friends to have.”

“True.” The Mandalore rose to his feet, wincing as he stretched the bandages on his chest. He turned his back on her, staring out through the large window behind his desk that overlooked the MandalMotors complex. Smoke was rising from the ruined plaza in the distance, where the topside battle had broken out, and there were repair crews swarming around the tower, hurrying to repair the damage done to the building over the course of the fight.

Shysa sighed. “I won' lie to you, lass. This attack frightened me. I've never seen such a large-scale armed insurrection against the _Mand'alor. _And the fact they're callin' themselves _Kyr'tsad_...”

He shook his shaggy blond head. “The last time there was a _Kyr'tsad_ uprising, I was just a green-eared lad with the enforcement office. An' back then they were just focused on killing _aruetiise_; it was a conflict a long way from here.”

He turned back to her. “What I'm tryin' to say, lass, is that I'm thankful for all the help you gave me. I don' know what I woulda done on my own, but my chances of survivin' would have been much slimmer.”

He cocked his head. “You're no Mando. Why did you defend me so fiercely?”

She had been wondering about this herself. She owed no real allegiance to Shysa or his regime, but she had almost died defending him anyway. There would have been a time when she would have avoided being caught up in such dramatic ordeals and let the upper echelon care for themselves. But...

She eventually shrugged. “I guess... I guess it's because my friends asked me to. And I know how important you are to them.”

She half-expected the Mandalore to be angry with her. But he just smiled at her. “Your friends are lucky to have a loyal lass like you watchin' out for 'em.”

She smiled back. “That's what I keep telling them.”

He eased himself back into his chair and folded his hands on the desk. “There's nothin' I can give that will repay you for your actions. We Mandos don't usually reward each other for doin' our duty.”

He stared at her. “But you... you aren't Mandalorian, lass. It wasn't your duty to defend me. And yet you did anyway. That deserves recognition.”

“Sir,” she said, “you don't need to...”

He held up a hand to silence her. “We _Mando'ade_ do have precedence for honorin' warriors who have set themselves apart from the rank an' file. Who've gone above and beyond the call o' duty in their actions.”

He stood again and rested his hands on his hips, an authoritative gesture that made him look considerably larger. He took a deep breath and said, “_Aruetii_ Jay Moqena, I hereby bestow upon you the _Jai'galaar'la Sur'haii'se_, the Shriek-Hawk Eyes given to warriors who've earned prestige an' glory in battle. You've earned the distinction in service to a _Mand'alor_ who has not earned your loyalty, yet for whom you were willin' to lay down your life regardless. You honor the Mandalorian people with your actions, and they will honor you in return.”

He then pressed his hand against his chest, his lips, and his forehead respectively. “_Haat, ijaa, haa'it_. This I swear.”

Jay stared at him as he lowered himself into his seat again, trying to comprehend the gravity of the honor he'd given her. She blinked a few times, thinking, _This isn't some basic commendation from the Imperial Fleet. This is something bigger. Something far more important._

She opened her mouth to speak, but he was already talking. “It'll take time before you can be formally presented with the award,” he said. “Rebuildin' from these attacks and securing the infrastructure of our people must come first. But you have my word that your actions in this crisis will not go unrewarded.”

She eventually nodded and bowed her head. “Thank you, _Mand'alor_. I... I can't pretend to know what this means, but I know this award isn't given lightly. I'm glad to have given _aruetiise_ a good name for once.”

He grinned at her, a little of his trademark humor returning to the gesture. “I'm sure the _Mando'ade _will be happy to hear about a good-hearted _aruetii_ after all this.”

He cleared his throat and glanced at the stack of flimsiplast paperwork on his desk. “Now, if you'll excuse me, lass, I've got a real mountain o' paperwork to get to. An' I'm sure your pals down in the medcenter will be eager to see you after all this.”

She nodded and bowed her head again. “Yes, sir. Good luck with... well, with all this. I hope you find who's responsible.”

A dark look crossed Shysa's face. “Aye,” he said. “Me too.”

~~~~~~~~

**Keldabe City Medcenter**

“Bullshit.”

“I'm telling the truth,” Vhetin said as the nurse replaced his IV drip. “I can do stuff like that you know.”

“You're telling me,” Denton said, “that you just ripped the prison doors off? You're not a kriffing Barabel, you know.”

“The hinges were rusty,” Vhetin replied with a shrug. “Besides... all things considered, I probably could have found a better way do escape.”

“I dunno,” Denton said, resting back against the pillows of his hospital bed. “A few radiation burns and broken bones seem like a fair trade for some rest and recuperation.”

Vhetin chuckled as the nurse finished her ministrations and left the room. “I don't know how much Jay's told you about me, but I'm not exactly the _rest and recuperation_ kind of guy.”

“Still,” Denton said, “at least you're getting the medical care you need for that pneumonia _osik_ the Imperials infected you with. The nurse said you'd be back to normal in how long? Three weeks?”

“Four,” Vhetin said. “Provided the biochem therapy works. Genetically-engineered superviruses are tricky that way.”

“Any luck tracking down the guys who did this to you?”

Vhetin shook his head, adjusting his black face mask that he'd insisted on wearing in place of his helmet. His full suit and equipment, which the enforcement office had kindly recovered for him, was resting on a bedside table near his table. The helmet was resting on top of his chest plates, staring at him with the comforting anonymity of its tinted T-visor.

“No,” he said. “I've got my friend Tarron looking in on the matter, but I've been too preoccupied to deal with it personally. I'll find them, though. It's what I do.”

Denton nodded, careful not to dislodge the heavy head bandages wrapped around his face. “I'm sure you will. Jay said you're a persistent bastard. Among other things.”

Vhetin chuckled again and rested back against his pillows. “You're a good guy, Denton. Even with Dala breathing down your neck, you managed to pull off more than I could during that sewer attack. Most of us wouldn't have made it out of there without you.”

“Glad you think so. Though it is technically all in a day's work for me. I'm gonna be raking in some _serious_ overtime and hazard pay after that.”

“Has Jay ever told you that you would make a good mercenary?”

He pulled a face. “No thanks. I like a stable paycheck. Being a private contractor's a little too... unstable a career choice for me. But-”

He trailed off, staring at the doorway. His lips pursed and he nodded in that direction, murmuring, “You've got a visitor.”

Vhetin followed the man's gaze and saw a familiar white-clothed woman slinking through the door. Her hood was pulled over her head, throwing her eyes into shadow. The nurse was following close behind, saying, “You can only visit for a few minutes. He's due for radiotherapy in a few minutes.”

The Handmaiden silenced the woman with a wave of her gloved hand. “I shall not be long. Do not fear.”

The nurse shook her head and muttered a quiet insult, but turned and returned to the hall outside. The Handmaiden closed the door behind her and met Vhetin's gaze, her pale blue eyes flashing in the shadows of her hood.

“It is...” she hesitated. “It is good to see you alive, Mandalorian.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is it? Just how hard did D'harhan hit you?”

“Keeping in high spirits, I see,” she said, stepping closer. She stopped at the end of his bed and hooked her hands behind her back. Her combat suit was once again returned to its pristine white condition, free of bloodstains, tears, or scorch marks. He could see a dark bruise along her jaw, but she looked otherwise completely unharmed. Vhetin, confined to his hospital bed for the next two weeks at least, found himself feeling more than a little jealous at her luck.

“I was informed that you had suffered radiation burns during your escape from Caranthyr's grasp,” she said. “I must admit, I am unfamiliar with the affliction. There is a treatment, yes?”

He nodded, glancing at Denton, who shrugged in response. The Handmaiden seemed suspiciously concerned with his well-being. It put him off-guard, making him feel a little uneasy. What was she planning?

“There's a treatment,” he said. “Basically the same treatment I left behind when I escaped the Facility; lots of needles, lots of chemicals, and being sick all the time. But I haven't vomited preservative fluid in hours and my nausea is nowhere near as bad as it was. My hands will recover in time, too.”

“Good,” she murmured, sounding as if she were speaking more to herself. “That is... good.”

He frowned at her behind his mask and said, “Handmaiden, is there a specific reason you decided to visit me?”

She glanced up at him suddenly, as if shaken from deep thought. “What?”

“Why are you here?”

She fidgeted, shifting her balance from foot to foot. “I... I have given thought to your earlier request. About teaching you in the ways of the Echani.”

Vhetin nodded slowly. He'd honestly completely forgotten about his request, when he'd asked for the Handmaiden to teach him to fight like the Echani. He'd figured that his own skills, which had proven to be severely lacking when pitted against the Tracker and his soldiers, would be greatly strengthened if tempered with the renowned combat abilities of the white-haired warriors.

“And? Have you come to a decision?”

She grimaced, looking more nervous than angry. “I have.”

He stared at her, waiting for her response. “And?”

“I will accept your request.”

He blinked, genuinely surprised. “You will? Why?”

She fidgeted again and stared at the floor. “It... it is not a thing I can explain. Not at this point in time. Simply know that I will accept your request, both for your sake... and for my own.”

He glanced at Denton again, then nodded and said, “All right then. I can respect that.”

She met his gaze, giving him a tiny nod of appreciation. “Very well. We shall begin as soon as you feel able.”

“The docs say I need to stay here for the next four weeks. After that, I should be fine.”

“Very well. We are still required to assist the enforcement office as penance for our crimes during this investigation. I shall use that time to train you. If you have the temperament and if you are fortunate, I shall teach you the first tier of Echani training.”

“All right. I look forward to it.”

She continued to stare at him. “Before we begin, you must know that my people's traditions are very serious. I will not allow you to make light of what knowledge I chose to pass on. You will either accept my training and follow my command or I will not teach you. Insubordination will not be tolerated.”

He pondered over this, then eventually bowed his head as best he could from his position. He knew that, like the Mandalorians, Echani took their combat rituals very seriously. It was not a subject to be taken lightly. He could respect that, even if being subordinate to the arrogant Echani woman was an irritating thought.

“All right,” he said. “I promise to treat your teachings with the respect they deserve.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I was... not sure you would agree. I had believed my restrictions would make you even more prejudiced against a culture that rivals your own.”

“That's not the way I operate.”

“I am... I am glad to hear that,” she said. The corner of her mouth twitched upward in the faintest hint of a true, amused smile.. “Then rest and recuperate, and I shall see you soon.”

She bowed to him, the first sign of respect she had ever given him. Then she turned on her heel and strode out of the room without another word. The door slid shut behind her, obscuring her white-clad form from view.

Denton stared at the door with the eye that wasn't bandaged. Then he shook his head and grinned at Vhetin. “It may just be me,” he said, “but I think she likes you.”

~~~~~~~~

**Brianna's Apartment, Downtown Keldabe**

Brianna eased herself into her worn and comfortable armchair, folding her legs and stretching out.

“I told you,” she said, “Caranthyr and his men are gone. Shysa doesn't have any more need for me or the other private contractors.”

“Good,” Galaar said, sitting on the worn-out couch across from her. He stared down at a dagger laying across his lap with a scowl. He was polishing the blade with a rag, a simple task he was working on with a distracted gaze. “Those guys were trouble. I didn't like the idea of you wandering around through the sewers with terrorists lurking behind every corner.”

She smiled. “That's sweet of you. But I can handle myself. Look: I even got my old pistols back from the enforcement office.”

She affectionately patted the holstered pistols, resting on the tabble between them. She had worried that she would never see her treasured weapons again after leaving them in the sewers to infiltrate Caranthyr's base, but a tired-looking Trainee Ruusan – now officially promoted to Officer in light of her contributions to the investigation – had stopped by her apartment and returned her equipment unharmed.

She'd heard Vhetin had also retrieved his equipment – and avoided a painful confrontation with his sister as a result – but she hadn't gone to see him in the medcenter since he'd been admitted. They had parted almost as soon as the Protector reinforcements had led them and the freed prisoners out of the sewers. But before they'd parted, when they were still heading for the extraction point...

_She grimaced and squinted against the sudden glare of sunlight as they emerged along the banks of the roaring Kelita river. After the seemingly endless dark of the underground maze of sewer tunnels, the bright sunlight hurt her eyes and made her head throb. Still, she grinned widely and inhaled a deep breath of clean, fresh air._

“_Drink it all in,” she said, looking out over the rushing waters of the Kelita. Several of the previously imprisoned children were already playing in the shallows, laughing and splashing each other._

_After receiving word from the Handmaiden about how to disable Caranthyr's collars, the Protectors that had reinforced the enforcement office had quickly set about removing the explosive collars from the prisoners. Like the Handmaiden had said, removing the glowing blue boxes implanted along the spine of the collars seemed to disable the explosives. Afterwards, it was a simple matter of removing the collars themselves and collecting them for later study and reverse-engineering._

_Vhetin had been relieved when the heavy collar had been removed from around his throat. He had smiled at Brianna – an exhausted, weary smile that could only be seen in the wrinkles around his eyes; he wouldn't let the Protectors remove the mask he'd placed over his head to replace his lost helmet, so his intense blue eyes were the only part of his face she could see._

“_You okay?” she asked as he limped up next to her. His condition had deteriorated dramatically since they had met up with the Protectors. He had vomited preservative fluid three more times since being rescued, though he'd managed to convince a sergeant to dispose of the excretion with his flamethrower._

“_I'm fine,” he said. There was an exhaustion in his eyes that Brianna didn't like, but he seemed to be in high spirits regardless. “Looking forward to sitting down for a bit.”_

_She smiled and put a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. The motion didn't seem as awkward as it would have only days before. “You'll have plenty of time to rest once we get you to the medcenter.”_

“_Take five!” the Protector leading their group called out to them. “Catch your breath before we move on to the extraction point!”_

_Cin sighed in relief and settled himself down with his back propped against a nearby rock. Brianna hesitated, then sat next to him._

“_You should...” he sighed, eyes closed. “You should keep your distance. People will start to talk.”_

“_Let them talk,” Brianna said. “I know where my loyalties lie.”_

_He nodded. “I can... I can respect that. Even if I don't like it.”_

_She stared out at the river and the children playing there. After a few moments of silence, she said, “You did well back there, Cin. Those prisoners wouldn't have made it out without you.”_

_He chuckled. “I had help.” _

“_No,” she said, “you really didn't. You ripped those bars apart, attacked the guards, and organized the prisoners. All without a single bloody contribution from me.”_

“_You-”_

“_Cin,” she interrupted, “I'm trying to give you a compliment. You know, rebuild some of the bridges we burned?”_

“_Oh. All right then.”_

_He settled back against the rock again and murmured, “If it makes you feel any better, you can say you were my emotional support through the whole thing.”_

_She laughed and punched his arm lightly, not hard enough to hurt him in his weakened state. “Much more of that, _di'kut_ and I'll tell everyone I did it all myself.”_

_He was about to say more when the group leader called out, “All right! Marching time! We've got to get to the LZ in time for extraction!”_

_The group of Protectors and surviving prisoners slowly started regrouping. The children, who had been having fun playing in the river, grumbled and fell into step behind their parents or guardians. Vhetin sighed and finally opened his eyes. “No rest for the wicked, I guess.”_

_She grinned and rose to her feet, offering him a hand. “Come on. I'll help you to the LZ.”_

_He stared at her, then smiled with his eyes again and accepted her hand._

“What're you smiling at?”

Brianna blinked, startled out of her reverie. She glanced over at Galaar and said, “It's nothing. Just glad this insanity is over.”

“That white-haired weirdo let Caranthyr get away,” he responded, inspecting the blade of his dagger. “As long as he's still alive, it's not over.”

She had to admit he had a point. Caranthyr was dangerous and driven and would not give up so easily. He'd been dealt a crippling blow, but she had a feeling they'd be seeing him again; though hopefully not any time soon.

She rested her hands behind her head once again. “Doesn't matter. It's over for now. And I've got the entire weekend off as a result.”

“How do plan on spending it?”

She looked over at her wall and the collection of paintings there. She stood from her chair and walked over, picking up a blank canvas and staring at it. “I think I'll start on a new painting. It's been a while since I've done anything artistic.”

She stared out the window, watched the sun shine and the starships flash through the air high above the city rooftops. She smiled a little to herself, then gathered up her painting equipment. She put all her paints and brushes in a special pouch that clipped to her belt, then tucked her canvas and easel under her arm. Once finished, she turned back to Galaar and said, “I'm going out for a while. I'll be back at sunset.”

He nodded, still polishing his blade. “Don't stay out too long. Wouldn't want you to get kidnapped by some lunatic.”

“You're worried about me?” she chuckled. “After all that's happened? I can take care of myself.”

She moved toward the door, but Galaar's voice drew her attention back.

“Hey,” he said. “Regardless of what you went through back there, I still don't want you wandering alone. Don't forget these.”

He stood and tossed her pistols to her. She caught them easily, setting aside her canvas temporarily to attach the holsters to her belt. Once he was convinced she was suitably armed, he returned to his seat and went back to polishing his dagger. “Stay safe,” he said. “Caranthyr may be gone, but Keldabe's still dangerous.”

She smiled at him as she tucked her canvas and easel back under her arm. “I will. See you later.”

“_Ret_,” he replied. “Enjoy yourself.”

As she headed out into the shabby hall of her somewhat dilapidated apartment building, she found herself smiling still. _Cin's wrong, _she thought. _Galaar's a good man. It'll just take him time to see that._

Cin would come around. He always did, in the end. He was flexible that way. And with him finally back in town and on the road to recovery, the opportunities to re-connect with him and spend time together was looking pretty good.

Things were finally looking up. And as she stepped out onto the street and into the warm evening air, she got the feeling things were going to stay that way.


	21. Isabet Reau (FINALE)

**_Vheh'yaim _Vizsi, one week after the Caranthyr attacks**

Fenn Shysa stalked through the frigid northern plains, feeling the frost-covered grass crunch under his boots as a chilling wind tugged at his shoulder cape. He grimaced against the biting cold of the wind, considering whether to replace his helmet. He eventually decided against it; he was here on a diplomatic matter, after all, and didn't need to intimidate those he would be speaking with.

“This is a stupid idea,” Tobbi Dala said, following at his side. “Fenn, you're just going to escalate things.”

“Don't care,” Shysa replied. “I want answers. This is the only place I can think of to go.”

Dala scowled and said, “It's still stupid.”

“Noted.”

The _vheh'yaim _they were heading for was definitely a step up from the usual architecture. This particular dome-house, known as _Vhe'yaim _Vizsi, was almost four-hundred years old and had been modified and rebuilt almost non-stop over the course of centuries. The central dome-house was largely untouched, but branching _vheh'yaime_ had been added over the years, patched on here and there like a chaotic heap of grassy hills in the middle of a flat and arid plain. Around the mismatched buildings were massive, entrenched defensive spears embedded in the ground, their sharpened ends pointed outward to defend the complex in times of siege. A deep moat stretched around it all, almost four meters deep with the bottom lined with more wooden spikes. A single bridge led into the complex, guarded by two black-armored Mandalorians with heavy force pikes.

“They really rolled out the welcome mat for their _Mand'alor_,” Dala grumbled. “You'd think she would come out here to meet us in person.”

“You know how she is,” Shysa sighed. “Jus' mind your manners and we'll all make it out of this without causing a diplomatic incident.”

As the two approached, the guards crossed their pikes in an X in front of them, blocking their path.

“State your business, _Mand'alor_,” one of the guards growled. He had a single red stripe down the matte-black forehead of his helmet. “We don't take kindly to visitors here.”

“Your clan leader's expectin' me,” Shysa replied, folding his arms across his chest. “You really wanna stand up to her?”

“She hasn't told us to expect anyone.”

Dala clenched a fist. “Listen, boy. Shysa's _te Mand'alor_. That means he can go where he pleases, even in this godforsaken place. Stand aside.”

Shysa put a calming hand on his friend's shoulder, while the guard just stared at the bald man with disdain. “If we don't have orders to admit people, we don't admit people. Plain and simple.”

Dala was fuming, but Shysa decided to take over. “Maybe you can run it by her, then. Be a good lad and call her for us.”

The guard looked like he was going to refuse again. But then he simply shrugged and said, “I'll clear it with her. Stay here.”

The man turned and put a finger to his helmet's comm unit. After a few moments, he said, “Ma'am, this is Volyc down at the bridge. _Te Mand'alor_ Shysa is here, requesting an audience...”

While waiting for clearance, Shysa turned to Dala and said, “While I appreciate you comin' to my defense, Tobbi, I need you to keep a level head. These aren't your everyday Bralors or D'kkaris, you know. They aren't as tolerant as our mates down in Keldabe.”

Dala scowled. “I hate these people. You should never have come here.”

“That remains to be seen,” Shysa said, glancing back at the guard. “Like I said, I want answers. And as far as I know, she's the only one who has 'em.”

The guard murmured a few hushed words, then nodded. Shysa could distinctly hear a, “Yes ma'am. Right away.”

He turned back to them, shouldering his pike. “She's given you clearance. You can go inside, but mind yourself. We'll be watching you.”

“I don' doubt it,” Shysa said with a glare as he shouldered past the two. “Have fun guardin' the bridge in the middle o' nowhere.”

Dala moved to step after him, but the guards once again crossed their pikes. The guard sneered and said, “She's given _te Mand'alor_ clearance. Not his lackeys.”

Dala's eyes blazed, but he glanced at Shysa for guidance. He shook his head slightly and Dala's shoulders slumped, almost as if he was disappointed he couldn't pick a fight. He clenched his fists, face pulling down in a deep scowl.

“Fine,” he said. “I'll be waiting back at the speeder. But I warn you: any funny business...”

The guard nodded. “Right. We'll mind our manners if you mind yours. Just get out of our faces, little man.”

Dala glanced at Shysa one more time, then spun on his heel and stalked back to their MandalMotors speeder. Shysa watched him go, then turned and made his way deeper into the complex.

The area past the bridge was just as chaotic as it looked. The ground underfoot was a mixture of pulverized gravel and wood chips, spread across the uneven ground in seemingly random patches. The layout of the various interconnected _vheh'yaime_ created crooked, strangely-angled alleyways that seemed to stretch off to nowhere in particular, often coming to dead-ends. Everywhere he went there were more Mandalorians staring at him with suspicion, slinking out from behind corners or staring at him from perches on top of the _vheh'yaim _domes themselves. He could feel numerous eyes on him, following him no matter where he went.

It didn't take him long to find the main entrance, this one also flanked by guards. Shysa didn't know who exactly they were guarding the complex against, but he didn't question their orders; these folks were a paranoid bunch.

The guards straightened as he approached. One of them glanced at him and said, “She's waiting for you. Mind your manners when you're inside or we'll toss you across the moat, _Mand'alor _or no.”

Shysa narrowed his eyes, but nodded tersely and said, “I understand.”

“Good. Then pass and do what you came to do. She's waiting for you inside.”

The two stood aside and let him descend down into the subterranean entrance to _Vheh'yaim _Vizsi. As soon as he passed inside, he was surrounded by more aggressive Mandalorians glaring at him from all sides. One of them, a burly man in dark blue armor, stepped in front of him and growled, “You came without weapons?”

Shysa nodded. “I'm not the trickster you seem to think I am. Like I said when I called; I just wanna talk.”

He glared at him through narrowed eyes, then nodded and gestured down the entrance hall. “She's in the _karyai_. I wouldn't keep her waiting.”

The Mandalorians waiting in the hall, either settled in old patchwork chairs or simply staring at him with folded arms or expectant stares, obviously had no intention of letting him speak in private with their clan leader. He didn't care; the gravity of the situation shouldn't be reserved for hushed conversation behind closed doors. The accusations he was about to level were grave, and the whole clan needed to hear what he had to say.

When he emerged into the _karyai_, the central gathering room of the _vheh'yaim_, he saw more Mandalorians lounging about and staring at him balefully. There were people everywhere, sitting on couches, reclining against the walls, or simply standing and staring. Shysa wouldn't be surprised if a _Mand'alor_ hadn't set foot in Vizsi in over a hundred years.

And standing in the center of it all, like a queen surrounded by her subjects, was a tall woman in orange and yellow armor. She had long brown hair shot through with steel gray, pulled back in a tight ponytail adorned with beads and tassels. Her helmet was tucked under her arm, revealing the sharp angular designs painted across the helmet forehead. She was currently engaged in conversation with another Mandalorian wearing similarly-colored armor.

“Send out Second Patrol,” she said in a gravelly, raspy voice. “That bandit party is still in the area and I don't want them getting into the grassgrain stocks again. If they manage to slip past you again, you'll suffer the consequences.”

The man saluted, slapping a fist against his chest plates. “Yes ma'am.”

As he stepped away, the woman finally turned to face Shysa. She had a wide face with a strong jaw, pinched and angry looking features, and a long scar down the left side of her face. She cocked her head and fixed Shysa with an intense, slate-gray stare.

“_Mand'alor_,” she said, inclining her head. She put just enough empahsis on the word to sound insincere. A few of the other Mandos present snickered at her tone. She ignored them and instead held Shysa's gaze with an almost defiant air. “And to what do we owe this great pleasure?”

“You can drop the ceremony, Isabet,” Shysa said. “We both know I'm not here to make a social call.”

“Aye,” Isabet replied, raising an eyebrow. “You're here for a completely different reason.”

“You know what's been happening Keldabe the last few days?”

Isabet shrugged and set aside her helmet, resting her hands on her hips. “Something about a terrorist attack? Suicide bombers, assassination attempts... it all sounds terribly exciting.”

“You're right on that count, _vod_.” Like her use of _Mand'alor_ earlier, Shysa put just enough effort on the word to make it sound sarcastic. “It was the busiest weekend we've had in years.”

He began pacing back and forth, hooking his thumbs into his utility belt. “After all the fun was over, I started thinkin' about it all. I thought, _why here? Why now?_ Why did Keldabe go from being peaceful and raucous as ever to a battleground in days? And you wanna know what I found?”

Isabet was inspecting her fingernails nonchalantly. “Do tell.”

“I started lookin' through the reports of the aftermath: casualty reports, damage reports, missin' persons files... and I found out the strangest thing.”

“What's that?”

“That Lorka Gedyc is dead. That she was one of the first people to die in the sewer assault.”

He stared at Isabet coldly. “I'm hopin' you'll shed some light on that. I mean, look at it from my perspective: your old chum Lorka, a pal of yours from the old _Cuy'val Dar_ days and a warrior held in high regard by your late boyfriend Priest suddenly shows up dead only days after a terrorist claiming to be part of the resurgent Death Watch starts blowing up parts of my city and taking shots at me and my people.”

He cocked his head. “Like you said, assassinations are terribly exciting.”

“What are you getting at?” Isabet said calmly, raising an eyebrow.

“Lorka Gedyc was makin' plans to rebuild the Death Watch and ally 'em with the Empire. You remember that? Back at the end of the Clone Wars? I find it surprisin' you'd forget, especially considerin' your boyfriend was killed only days later.”

He folded his arms. “An' if Caranthyr was really workin' for the Death Watch, he wasn' the leader. He was taking orders from someone, someone he very specifically referred to as _she_.”

He rubbed his chin. “Lorka was already dead by then. Priest was dead decades ago. So that leaves only one girl in the old gang left.”

Isabet smiled widely; a very nasty expression in Shysa's opinion. “So what, you're accusing me of trying to bomb Keldabe?”

“I'm thinkin' there's only one person left who was so outspoken about rebuilding the Death Watch. An' she's standin' right in front of me.”

Isabet threw her head back and laughed. “You have no proof!”

“They wore yellow-orange armor, Isabet. Your clan colors.”

Her expression grew very serious now. “Let me get this straight; you come in here to my _home_, and start accusing me, Isabet Reau, Clanmaster of the Reau-Vizslas, of treason against the Mandalorians? You've got some _gett'se_, even for a _Mand'alor_.”

“Not bad for _Mandalore the Meek_, eh?” He stared at her. “Tell me I'm wrong.”

“You're wrong. I had nothing to do with this Caranthyr or his attacks. And I'm frankly insulted you would think so.”

“Are you so surprised? We don't take too kindly to the Death Watch. You know, not since they _murdered_ one of the best Mandalores we've had in decades.”

He stepped toward her, ignoring the fact that almost every other Mandalorian present quickly rested their hands on their weapons. “I don' know what game you're playin' Isabet. But whatever it is, it's a bloody dangerous one. I'm warnin' you now, before things get serious, to call it all off before you get tossed in over your head.”

“Is that a threat?”

Shysa clenched a fist but shook his head. “No. No it's not. Just know that, whether it's your fault or not, the blood of over one hundred Mandalorians stain Caranthyr's hands, as well as the hands of whoever was holdin' his leash.

“Think over that,” Shysa said, finally stepping away.

Reau's face was expressionless as she nodded. “I will. Is that all?”

Shysa shook his head with a sneer. “I guess so.”

“Good,”she said, pointing over his shoulder. “There's the door. It's been a nice chat, Fenn.”

Shysa glared at her for a few moments, then shook his head and turned away. He could feel the eyes of every Mando in the place watching him as he left, but he didn't so much as acknowledge them as he stalked back out into the cold.

Tobbi Dala was waiting for him back at the speeder. He quickly hopped into the passengers seat as Shysa warmed the engines and prepared to take off. He obviously noticed his friend's short, terse movements, but stayed silent. At least until Shysa punched the console with a clenched fist and snapped, “_Damn _that woman!”

“I take it things didn't go so well?”

Shysa sat back in the pilot's seat and ran a hand through his long blond hair. “She just deflected all my accusations. Said she had nothin' to do with Caranthyr and wouldn't hear anythin' more about it.”

“I told you it was a bad idea. Now they know your hand, Fenn. They know you'll be watchin' them.”

“D'you think that'll be enough?” he asked as he guided the ship into the sky. “Think they'll just back off 'cause they're under too much scrutiny?”

“Would Dred Priest have backed off? Would Lorak Gedyc have?”

Shysa sighed. “I didn't think so.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Triple our watch over _Vheh'yaim_ Vizsi. I don't want a repeat of Caranthyr's rampage. Isabet may be a good liar, but there's too much tradition in her family, too many ties to the _Kyr'tsad_ to simply let her go.”

“We're spying on our own people?” Dala questioned. “Don't get me wrong; the Reau-Vizslas are the first I would put under surveillance. But if you get found out... well, then the shit'll _really _hit the fan.”

“We're playin' the game now, Tobbi,” Shysa said, narrowing his eyes as he guided the speeder south, toward Keldabe; that city of promise, the one peaceful place on Mandalore where his people could live in true freedom, without threat to their lives or livelihoods.

“Caranthyr made the first move,” he said. “An' it was a good one. But if we just sit back an' pretend there's no game at all, he and his masters will defeat us all without even needing to try. So the only solution is to make a play ourselves.”

He scowled as the distant cityscape of Keldabe came into sight on the horizon, with the MandalMotors beacon shining out from the peak of the hill.

“Triple the amount of men we have watching Isabet and her clan,” he said. “It's our turn now.”

~~~~~~~~

“What the _kriff_ were you _thinking_?!”

Caranthyr shrunk back against the wall, tugging at his restraints. “You told me to act! To hit them with a preemptive strike!”

“So you go straight for _te Mand'alor_?!” Isabet Reau thundered, shaking with rage. “What the hell kind of preemptive strike is _that_?”

“Cut the head off the snake,” Caranthyr hissed, “and the snake dies.”

“Not when the snake's head is protected by _hundreds of people_!” Reau shouted. “I wanted a _small_ _target_, something that could be written off as an _accident. _And you go with kriffing mind-control and suicide bombers? What the kriff is wrong with you?!”

He shook his head, cringing against the dank wall of his cell. “But it almost worked! Shysa was in my grasp! If not for that _aruetii_, I would have _had _him!”

Isabet froze, turning her icy grey gaze on him. “What _aruetii_?”

“A-a foreigner!” Caranthyr stammered. “A _beroya_. She was hired to help with the investigation. She was helping Shysa escape!”

“So Shysa, aided by an _aruetii_, fled the battle rather than fighting?” Reau narrowed her eyes and rubbed her wide chin. “Interesting...”

She was silent a long time, pacing back and forth in front of Caranthyr. The changeling followed her with his eyes, shivering in the dank cold of the room. She eventually nodded to herself and turned back to him. “This _aruetii_ may be of use to us. Who is she?”

“Her name... name... Moqena! Her name was Moqena! She was an _aruetii_ living in Keldabe. She and some other private contractors were helping with the investigation. Persistent sons of bitches, the lot of 'em.”

“Names, Coro. I need names.”

“There was Moqena. And her partner, Cin Vhetin.”

Reau hissed through her teeth. “Should have known he would get wrapped up in all this sooner or later. I thought he was dead?”

“Apparently not,” Caranthyr grimaced. “He slit my throat himself. Never seen a faster swordsman.”

“You're a shoddy excuse for a swordsman,” Isabet snapped. “It's no wonder he bested you. But we'll deal with him soon enough. Who were the others?”

“Vhetin and Moqena,” he repeated. “Then there was the engineer, Bralor, the Echani bitch who broke my leg, and the other _aruetii_ _beroya_, Bellan.”

Isabet pondered over this, then nodded. A nasty grin spread across her face. “I can't believe I'm saying this, but we may just be able to salvage something from this catastrophe, despite your incompetence.”

She stared down at him, then gestured to the guards standing watch over the door. “Release him,” she said. “And make sure he doesn't leave the _vheh'yaim_ without a helmet. After the events in Keldabe, Shysa and his lackeys will no doubt increase their surveillance on our home. The last thing we need is him calling in the Protectors on our heads for harboring a terrorist.”

She turned back to him. “And you... from now on, you do exactly what I say when I say so.”

Pale gray eyes narrowed, staring at him with cold fury. “Disobey me again, changeling, and I will kill you.”

Then she turned and left the room, letting the heavy door slam shut behind her.

* * *

_To be continued in Star Wars: White Snow: Isolation..._


	22. Next Time

_Next time..._

An expedition of elite warriors in the equatorial jungles of Mandalore disappears without a trace. When they fail to report in, Mandalorian leader Fenn Shysa sends a recovery team to investigate the fate of the original group. Cin Vhetin volunteers for the mission, claiming he has a history with one of the missing team members. Jay also volunteers, always eager to explore new and exciting places.

They, along with famed Mandalorian warrior Vhonte Tervho and the fearsome cult leader Norac Benz, join the search party bound for the ancient jungle known as the _Werda Kurs_, the Dark Forest. But as they begin their investigation, the hunters are plunged into a world unlike any they have faced before. The jungles of Mandalore are dark, dangerous, and violent. There are things in the trees even Mandalorians fear, creatures that hunt anything that passes into their territory and prey on local warriors without mercy.

Now, trapped in the dark with miles of wilderness separating them from friendly forces, Vhetin, Jay, and their allies realize they are not alone in the ancient forests. They are being hunted by the very creatures that ambushed the patrol team, creatures the locals call the _Kar'ta-Epare_.

The Heart-Eaters.

* * *

**Author's Note: As usual, I do not claim to own anything from Star Wars that is not of my own creation. Star Wars and all related characters, locations, etc, belong to Lucasfilm and Disney.**


	23. Off Duty: Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Off Duty" is a collection of shorts involving daily life among the Mandalorians. It focuses on moments of quiet, budding relationships, and important events that occur between the events and behind the scenes of larger adventures.
> 
> Without a home to fight for, fighting itself becomes pointless. And even in a galaxy as dangerous as this, wars are only half the story.

** **

**Shortly after the events of _White Snow: Contention_**

“You sure you’re up to this?”

Vhetin nodded, his face a mask of grim determination. “I can do this. Just give me space.”

Janada took a step back and said, “Take it slow. Whenever you’re ready.”

He pursed his lips, then slowly clenched his hands into fists. He grimaced against the pain, but held the position. Janada could see his hands shaking, could see the sweat beginning to bead along his forehead. She raised a hand and said, “All right, little bro. I think that’s enough. Don’t want to go too far too fast.”

He quickly relaxed his hands, letting out a short gasp. He cursed quietly and sighed, “It’s been a whole damn week already and I still can’t close a fist without my _shabla _skin burning.”

“You’re doing better,” she pointed out. “Three days ago you could barely move your fingers at all.”

“But it’s not good enough!” he hissed, staring at his bright red palms. In the week since the fight in the sewers, the bounty hunter’s hands had become severely inflamed from radiation, the skin warping and turning a bright, livid red. He’d finally gotten the bandages off a day previous, but his hands were still highly sensitive and prone to stinging at the slightest provocation.

Janada wasn’t too proud to admit that it hurt to see her little brother in such a state. Vhetin was always tough and confident, always rebounding from his injuries with almost unnatural speed and vigor. But this was different. The radiation poisoning had thankfully been caught in time to negate the worst damage, but there was still the issue of his pseudo-pneumonia virus that the Imperials had given him. The sickness seemed to come and go, but it was sticking with him like a son of a bitch.

Janada had overhead some of the doctors talking among themselves about transferring him to a medcenter on Coruscant, one qualified enough to deal with such afflictions. She had quickly stepped in and threatened to break their precious operating hands if they went through with such a plan; transferring Cin to Imperial City would just get him caught again that much faster.

Vhetin lay back against his hospital cot with a sigh. “How am I supposed to use my saber pike if I can’t even close my hands?”

“It’ll get better,” Janada reassured him. “The _baar’ure_ are optimistic you’ll have a full recovery.”

“Yes, but how long is it going to take?”

“You should count yourself lucky there’s a treatment at all,” Janada said. “If it was fifteen years ago, Keldabe wouldn’t have had a medcenter qualified to treat you. They would’ve had to amputate your hands to keep the radiation from killing you.”

Vhetin scoffed. “One thing the Empire’s done for us, at least.”

Janada rolled her eyes. “Has anyone ever told you how bitter you get when you’re hurt, _vod_? You may act like some big tough bounty hunter, but you’re kind of a baby.”

He shook his head. “I’m just not the kind of guy who likes sitting around on his ass all the time.”

She laughed. “You almost died. I’m sure they’ll forgive you for taking a bit of a break.”

“Kriff that,” Vhetin sighed, resting his raw hands over his chest. “Get me back out there with a gun in my hands. I can’t stand laying around like this.”

Janada grinned, but let the matter rest. She settled herself into the bedside seat and folded one leg over her knee. She had refused to leave her brother’s side since he’d been admitted. She was sure he found it at least a little annoying, but refused to let him out of her sight regardless. He’d already been kidnapped by the Imps for months on end; she wasn’t going to let him get into any more trouble without her there to either hold him back or join in.

Still, she couldn’t just sit around and watch her brother sleep. It was boring and she wouldn’t stand for it. She decided to rile things up.

“So…” she said slowly, a knowing grin tugging at her lips. “I’ve noticed you getting all chummy with that woman who changes your bandages.”

Vhetin opened one eye. “Nurse Vachiira? What’s it matter to you?”

“She’s cute.”

He sighed and closed the eye. “_Te Manda_ save me. Don’t start.”

“The fact you let her walk in here without your helmet _or_ that kriffing mask tells me _you_ think she’s cute too.”

He shook his head and pretended to be falling asleep. “Who I find cute is none of your _shabla_ business, Janada.”

“When’re you going to ask her out?”

“I didn’t plan on ever doing it.”

“Oh come on,” she sighed, slapping her thighs for emphasis. “Your partner’s got a new boyfriend, your ex has a new boyfriend, word from the south is that Tamai’s got a new girlfriend… You’re falling behind the curve, little bro. It’s time you got a girl too.”

He opened his eyes. “And you think Nurse Vachiira is a good place to start?”

Janada shrugged. “Wouldn’t hurt to get a contact inside a well-stocked and well-funded medcenter. You certainly can’t keep relying on Rame all the time to patch you up.”

He chuckled. “I don’t know how you treat your relationship with Verdo, but I don’t find people attractive based solely on their usefulness to my career.”

Janada shrugged. “Your loss. I guess there’s always the Echani to chase after.”

Vhetin’s eyes opened again. “Seriously? You’re going to go there?”

“I don’t see why not,” she shot back with a grin. “Long as you’re feeling up for a fight.”

He shook his head. “She just offered to train me. That’s all.”

“We Mandos have found worse excuses to cover up some good ol’ hanky-panky.”

He groaned and put a hand to his forehead, then grimaced when he irritated his burns again. “I cannot believe you just said that. You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” she said. There wasn’t much for her to do while waiting for him to recuperate other than torment him.

There was a buzz from the door and none other than Nurse Vachiira stepped in, brushing a wayward strand of raven-black hair from her pretty blue eyes. Janada glanced over at her brother and bounced her eyebrows suggestively. He responded with a well-worn Mandalorian hand gesture that made her throw her head back in laughter.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the nurse said, “but Cin’s up for another round of radiotherapy. Hope you didn’t have a big breakfast.”

Reluctantly, Janada stood and brushed her hands off. “Okay. I’ll leave you to it, Stripes. I’ll see you around noon? I’ll bring you a nice take-out lunch from the _Oyu’baat_.”

Vhetin pulled a face. “I think after radiotherapy, I’m going to need it.”

Janada nodded and headed for the door. She paused next to Nurse Vachiira and leaned close, murmuring, “From what I’ve heard, your patient is a _great_ kisser. Just food for thought.”

Then she walked out. As the door swung shut behind her, she heard Vhetin sigh in exasperation and mutter, “Ignore her.”

Then she grinned and headed further down the hall.

~~~~~~~~

**Three days later**

Denton shifted in his bed, fidgeting uncomfortably. “So… a Niordi, huh?”

There was a heavy rumbling in response, then D’harhan droned, “_YES. I WAS ONCE OF THE NIORDI PEOPLES._”

“I… haven’t heard much about your culture.”

“_FEW HAVE_,” the cyborg said in his dead, mechanical voice. “_MY PEOPLE LIVED BEYOND THE OUTER RIM, FAR FROM THE REACH OF YOUR WORLDS. WHEN WE WERE DISCOVERED DECADES AGO, MANY OF MY KIND WERE SLAUGHTERED. I AM ONE OF THE LAST REMAINING.”_

Denton began fidgeting even more. “Right… forget I asked.”

The sat in silence for a long time, D’harhan seemingly content to simply stare at him with his dead, mechanical photoreceptors. Panels and plates spread across his powered-down cannon shifted and clanked quietly in time with the heavy metallic rasping that was the alien’s breath. His long, segmented tail scraped back and forth across the sterilized tile of the medcenter room.

Denton cleared his throat awkwardly. “So, um… as much as I appreciate visitors, big guy… why exactly are you here?”

“_PENANCE_,” was all the massive alien would say.

“Right. Well the staff had to haul you up here in the freight elevator because you’re too big to fit through the main doors. That seems like a lot of effort for _penance_.”

“_I HAVE CAUSED GREAT HARM IN RECENT DAYS_,” D’harhan explained, his cannon letting out a heavy warble as he spoke. “_I WISH TO NOW SPREAD GOOD TO COUNTERACT THAT.”_

“That’s great and all, but why are you _here_?”

“_YOUR MATE, THE DARK-HAIRED FLESHLING_,” D’harhan said. “_SHE SAID YOU WERE BEING HOUSED HERE. RECUPERATING FROM WOUNDS I INFLICTED. SHE CLAIMED IT WOULD SPEED YOUR RECOVERY IF YOU HAD COMPANY_.”

Denton groaned and looked over at Vhetin, in the bed across the room. “_Te manda _save me. Jay’s doing this on purpose.”

The bounty hunter laughed as he carefully worked on a handheld datapad; his hands were bound tightly with medical bandages, restricting his movements. “I’m not sure what complaining to me about it will do for you.”

“Can’t you talk to her? She’s your partner.”

He laughed again. “You’re the one who felt brave enough to start dating her. You have to deal with her now.”

“Great,” Denton said, rubbing his forehead. “I ask out an attractive brunette and end up being baby-sat by a cyborg death machine.”

“All in a day’s work for us _beroya_s,” Vhetin said, focusing again on his datapad. “You might want to get used to it if you’re serious about Jay.”

“Can I expect you to be the best man at our wedding too?” Denton asked the hulking cyborg sitting next to him. “Or be the godfather to our first kid?”

“_I HAVE LITTLE EXPERIENCE WITH FLESHLING JOINING RITUALS_,” D’harhan replied. “_NOR DO I CARE MUCH FOR CHILD CARE. REGARDLESS, IT IS MY UNDERSTANDING THAT SUCH THINGS REQUIRE INTERACTION FOR LONGER THAN A FEW MONTHS_.”

Vhetin burst out laughing again. “Wow. He somehow manages to miss the point entirely, but ends up more sarcastic than Janada. I never thought I’d see the day.”

D’harhan’s gigantic cannon swiveled to face him. “_REMAIN SILENT. I HAVE DEBTS TO PAY TO THE GOLD-ARMORED FLESHLING, BUT NONE THAT I EXTEND TO YOU, TINY ONE_.”

“And why is that?”

“_WHILE I CAUSED GREAT HARM TO MANY THROUGHOUT THIS CITY, I DID NOT ACT AGGRESSIVELY TOWARD YOU. YET YOU PURSUED AND ATTACKED ME AT EVERY OPPORTUNITY_. _I DO NOT CONDONE SUCH ACTION._”

“You threw a car at me.”

“Technically,” Denton said, “he just drove the speeder off the road. It wasn’t his fault you were standing in the way.”

Vhetin shook his head. “I don’t care. When two tons of durasteel and plastoid gets chucked at my face, I’m not that concerned with the intentions of the ones responsible.”

“_AND YET YOU LIVE_,” D’harhan rumbled. The cyborg turned away, the status lights on his massive head-cannon pulsing dangerously. “_MANY IN RECENT DAYS CANNOT CLAIM THE SAME DUE TO ACTIONS TAKEN BY THE BOTH OF US_.”

Vhetin instantly fell silent and Denton cringed. “Probably a little too soon for stuff like that, big guy. Why don’t we change the subject?”

“_I WOULD ADVICE CEASING CONVERSATION COMPLETELY_,” the cyborg said. “_YOUR FLESHLING BIOLOGY IS FRAGILE. IT REQUIRES TIME AND REST TO MEND. AND YOU ARE GETTING NEITHER WHILE ARGUING SEMANTICS WITH ME_.”

“Okay, okay,” Denton said. “I’ll get some rest. Just… could you stop staring at me? It’s kind of creepy.”

All at once, the status lights scattered around D’harhan’s implants blinked out. “_I HAVE DISABLED MY CYBERNETIC PHOTORECEPTORS. WILL THAT SUFFICE?_”

Denton sighed. “I guess it’ll have to.”

“_GOOD. THEN REST. NOW.”_

He rolled over, ignoring Vhetin’s smirk from across the room, and muttered again, “_Te manda_ save me.”

Jay was definitely going to pay for this.


	24. Off Duty: Meditation and Thoughts of Home

**_Oyu’baat _Tapcaf, one week after the events of _White Snow: Contention_**

“Hey there.”

The Handmaiden’s pale blue eyes snapped open and she let out a soft gasp, shaken from her meditation. All at once, the sights, sounds, and smells of the overcrowded tapcaf came flooding back to her, grinding against her senses even from her position on the floor above the bar.

She glared at the newcomer and said, “I was not expecting visitors.”

Jay stopped short and cursed quietly. “I’m sorry. You were meditating, weren’t you?”

“I was,” the Handmaiden. “But please, continue. I would not turn away conversation.”

Jay held a mug of dark-colored liquid in each hand. “I figured you would want something to help unwind. You deserve it as much as the rest of us.”

The Handmaiden winced only slightly as she rose to her feet again, a sharp twinge of pain shooting up her side. A few choice bacta injections had tended most of her wounds, including her painfully broken nose, but it was still difficult to walk without pain.

Jay held out one of the tankards, but the Handmaiden shook her head, drawing her hood back over her bleached white hair and throwing her eyes into shadow. “I appreciate the offer, Jaimie, but I must pass.”

“Weak stomach?”

She flashed the other woman a rare smile. “More a personal preference. I do not drink, whether the brew is Mandalorian or Echani. I take pride in maintaining a sharp mind, and alcohol does not contribute to that goal.”

“Noble of you,” Jay said, taking a seat at a nearby table. “I hope you don’t mind if I take yours, then.”

“By all means.” The Handmaiden said. She picked up her quarterstaff from the floor next to her and inspected the pommel before clipping it to her belt. “What news do you bring?”

Jay shrugged as she took a quick swig of her drink. She grimaced and said, “Cin’s still in the medcenter and will stay there for the foreseeable future. Janada’s keeping an eye on him, so at least he’s not cooped up there alone.”

“The red-armored Mandalorian?” the Handmaiden said. “I must admit I have little experience with her. I get the feeling she did not think very highly of me.”

“That’s just Janada, I think. I got the same feeling when I met her. She seems a little distrustful of strangers.”

“A healthy attitude,” she settled herself down in the chair opposite the human. “Particularly given our profession.”

She crossed her legs and settled back into a more comfortable position. “How does the Mandalorian fare?”

“Cin? He’s doing fine. Irritated more than anything else. He wants to get out and get back to the way things were.”

“Understandable. What of the other? Your bondmate?”

“Bondmate?”

The Handmaiden paused, searching for the right words. “Ugh, you foreigners do not state things the same as the Echani… your word… boy-friend?”

“Oh, Denton? He’s fine. The doctors should let him out in a few days. Sounds like he’s eager to get back to work.”

“Commendable,” the Handmaiden said. She pursed her lips. “I must admit, some of my preconceptions about Mandalorians have proven to be incorrect. It is… disconcerting.”

Jay laughed as she took another sip of her strong brew. “I thought the exact same thing when I first got here. We outsiders don’t have a very high opinion of Mandalorians. I think we treat them a little unfairly.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps we have simply seen the best this culture has to offer.”

“I think Cin would argue that he’s far from the best Mandos have to offer.”

“That aside, I do not wish to lower my guard around these brutes. They have altered my opinion, not changed it entirely.”

Jay shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll come around eventually. We _aruetiise_ always seem to.”

The Handmaiden narrowed her ice-blue eyes. “It worries me that you use their colloquialisms so casually, Jaimie. I am starting to believe you are getting too close to them.”

“Is that a problem?”

“If you wish to retain your individuality, yes. Mandalorians have a strange talent for influencing the minds of their allies. I would not like to see you drawn into their fold.”

Jay smiled. “I appreciate the thought, Les, but I don’t have a problem with Mandalorians like you do. Still, I have no intention of converting any time soon. Their lives are too… harsh for me. A little too much is expected of them for me to be comfortable.”

The Handmaiden cocked her head. “I’m not sure you would enjoy an Echani’s life either, in that case.”

“Probably not.”

“I can say with certainty that life is far harsher on Eshan than it is here on Mandalore,” she explained. “The very nature of our planet’s environment demands it.”

Jay listened intently. “I haven’t heard much about Eshan. What’s it like?”

“It is a hostile, frigid world, all tall mountain peaks and barren ice plains. It has been compared to more well-known planets such as Mygeeto or Rhen Var, but far less livable. My people were the planet’s native inhabitants, and have grown resistant to the snows as a result.”

“Sounds awful,” Jay said, frowning. “Then again, I hate the cold.”

The corner of the Handmaiden’s mouth quirked up. “It is a difficult life, to be sure. But there is beauty in the savagery of the snows, a beauty that I have yet to find anywhere else in the galaxy.”

Unbidden, her eyes closed and she pictured her homeworld in her mind’s eye. “Nowhere else have I stood on the peaks of mountains and looked out across a sea of endless, unmarked snow. Nowhere else have I felt the frigid breeze of the arctic winds upon my face, felt the icy tug of winter at my fingertips. It is… quite indescribable.”

She opened her eyes again and found Jay smiling at her. “Has anyone ever told you that you would make a good poet?”

The Handmaiden shook her hooded head. “That is not the life I was born to. I would not thrive under such circumstance.”

“Still,” Jay said, taking another swig of her drink, “you have a way with words, Les. I would like to see what you’ve seen. That peaceful kind of solitude.”

“You misunderstand. There is no solitude among the Echani. The danger of our environment drives us to band together for survival. We grow very close to our fellows or we do not survive the snow. There is no middle ground.”

“It was similar for us in the navy,” Jay said. “We had to work as a cohesive unit, whether we got along or not. After a while, you grew close to other people regardless of who they were.”

“Yet from my research, there are very strict limitations placed upon you. You are never allowed to stray from the bond between commander and soldier, and there are no bondmates allowed within military units.”

“Do the Echani treat it differently?”

The Handmaiden nodded. “We do. Relationships are no matter for concern among our fighting forces.”

“But doesn’t that create a conflict of interests? People will care about their significant other more than following orders.”

The Handmaiden folded her hands in her lap and fixed Jay with a strict stare. “Echani are above such concerns. We are taught from our earliest days that our ultimate loyalty is to our people. No one person, no matter how much they are loved, are more important than the entirety of the Echani.”

“But what if… I don’t know, what if someone had to make a choice between following orders and saving the life of their-“

The Handmaiden interrupted her, her voice leaving no room for argument. “They would choose to follow their orders. It is not a debate. Those who disobey their orders for personal benefit of any kind, no matter how noble, is condemned to imprisonment or – more commonly – death.”

Jay looked horrified. “That’s awful. How can you go along with something like that?”

The Handmaiden shrugged. “It is what is expected of us. When you live under such a belief for the entirety of your life, it does not seem like such a weighty request. We Echani do what is necessary for our people to survive. We cannot place the needs of a minority over the needs of the entirety.”

“Well…”

“I do not ask you to share this belief,” the Handmaiden said. “It is merely the belief I was raised to follow.”

“And did you ever… have a bondmate? In the military, I mean.”

“A very personal question,” the Handmaiden said with a small smile. “I did not know you cared.”

“You’re my friend,” Jay said. “I just want to get to know you better.”

_Friend…_ The Handmaiden had to admit it had been a long time since anyone could claim such. Her last friends were those in the Echani military, so long ago. It seemed like a lifetime ago, so long she couldn’t quite remember how to react.

_There is no malice in her intentions_, she thought. _What harm would come from speaking of my past?_

Jay seemed to understand this. She smiled back and said, “You… don’t have many people who care for you, do you?”

The Handmaiden shook her hooded head. “I do not. Not anymore. The life of an Echani warrior is a lonely one. That of an exile even more so. The necessary dedication to tradition and self-improvement rarely leaves time for other things, relationships included.”

She stared at the tabletop. “I did, however… on occasion… reach out to others. I had a bondmate once. Long ago. It was… a happier time.”

“Did he have a name?”

She let out a soft chuckle. “Jeneria.”

“But that’s a… oh.”

The Handmaiden smiled sadly at the other woman’s surprise. “You disapprove.”

“No! No, no, I just didn’t expect—”

“Among the Echani, men are often seen as inferior to their female counterparts,” the Handmaiden explained. “We are very much a matriarchal society. And while males are needed for procreation, it is seen as more socially desirable to take a bondmate of the same or similar level of prestige.”

“Ah. I didn’t know your relationships were so, um… clinical.”

“You misunderstand. I cared for Jeneria as much as you now care for your Justice-Dealer bondmate. There was nothing clinical about our bond. But… I sometimes wish there had been.”

Jay cocked her head to one side. “Why?”

“She…” the Handmaiden hesitated. “She died. During a deployment almost a month before my exile. Felled in combat. By a Mandalorian.”

Jay gasped slightly and covered her mouth in shock. “Les… I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

“My hatred for these so-called _Sons of Mandalore _goes far beyond petty jealousy,” she said, focusing intently on her black leather gloves. “I lost much that day. But… nothing quite as painful as that. It was a difficult time.”

Jay stared down at her drink, as if she had suddenly lost her desire for it. After a while she cleared her throat and said, “I know it doesn’t help, but… well, I know how you feel.”

The Echani glanced up at the human. “You do?”

Jay nodded. “I do. My ex-boyfriend, Sade, was killed in action over Malachor Five. When I returned to the fleet to ask for reinforcements, they claimed I was a spy and threw me in prison.”

The Handmaiden stared at her, blue eyes holding brown. Then she bowed her head and said, “I did not know. I am saddened by your loss.”

“Thanks,” Jay murmured. “Same for you.”

They sat in silence for a long time before Jay glanced up at her and said, “So what was she like? Jeneria, I mean.”

The Handmaiden hesitated. It had been a long time since she had spoken of Jeneria. It was difficult to return to those memories now. Eventually she licked her dry lips and said, “She was kind. And just. She had a great love of dance, something that was not generally valued in Echani life. She was a skilled freerunner, and could outperform all her fellows, myself included. But most of all she was… full of life. She woke every day believing there would be some new adventure to throw herself into, and very often took me along with her.”

She smiled a little. “When paired with such enthusiasm, such a bright and beautiful candle… it is difficult to stop oneself from growing to love the light the other sheds. Her mere presence soothed the spirit, and made me believe…”

She stopped, a sudden heaviness descending over her chest. She sucked in a short breath and said, “Her enthusiasm was a belief I sadly lacked. I was never so luminous as she was. And I… I miss that.”

She cleared her throat and said, “But now I will speak no more of this. It is still very much a painful memory.”

Jay nodded. “All right.”

They sat in silence before Jay sighed and pushed the other mug of alcohol across the table toward her. She then stood from her chair, taking her own cup with her. “Just… in case you change your mind.”

The Handmaiden bowed her head in thanks, but said nothing. Jay stared at her, pausing before murmuring, “Les… I don’t know why you decided to come with me to Keldabe, but I’m glad you did. You’re a good woman. But these Mandalorians can be good people to. I hope they manage to change your mind about them.”

Then she turned and left the room, letting the heavy wooden door swing shut behind her. The Handmaiden watched her go, then looked down at the drink in front of her and murmured, “Deep down… I believe I hope so too.”

Then she returned to her earlier seat on the floor, took a deep breath, and resumed her meditation.


	25. Off Duty: Meet Tamai

**Equatorial Mandalorian Frontier, ten days after the events of _White Snow: Contention_**

The blue-armored woman leaped down from the rooftop, tackling the hefty raider commando around the shoulders and driving them both to the ground. The man grunted and tried to shake her off, but a well-placed punch to the back of the neck quickly stopped him. She jabbed him under the armpit with her gauntlet-mounted stun prod just to be sure he wouldn’t get up again. He twitched for a few seconds, then fell still.

She rolled off the armored man and leaped to her feet, throwing the fabric of her poncho over her shoulder to free her blaster arm. She drew her weapon and aimed at another man charging at her, wearing the distinctive dirty black/red armor of the local raider band. She snapped off a shot, hitting him in the shoulder with a high-powered stun bolt. He staggered and fell, just in time for her to drive her knee plate into his helmet. He crumpled backward.

Without pausing for breath, she spun and drew her other sidearm, aiming both down the main street and opening up on another pair charging at her from behind. She was too late, however, and the commandos quickly overwhelmed her position, causing her to duck under a few furious blows that would have knocked her off her feet.

She straightened and slammed the heel of one boot against the back of one man’s knee, sending him stumbling off balance. The other man she shot at point-blank range with a barrage of blue-white blaster fire that made him collapse like a sack of grassgrain.

The other raider had regained his balance and charged her again, but she easily ducked his blow. She straightened and landed a devastating punch to his unarmored ribcage, making him shout and double up from pain. She finished him off with a quick kick to the side of the knee, easily dislocating the joint and sending him crashing to the ground. A single bolt to the chest was enough to put him out for good.

She checked her HUD chronometer; just over a minute-thirty. Not bad, but she knew from experience she could do better. Maybe next time.

She turned back to the other raiders gathered around her, her pistols aimed at the ground. “Anyone else?” she called to them. There were maybe ten of them; too many to take in a single fight, but if they were all as clumsy as the first four, they wouldn’t pose that much of a problem if she managed to split them up.

When they didn’t answer she spread her arms and shouted, “Anyone else want to give it a shot?”

Still they remained silent. She scowled behind her helmet. “Your weapons are gone. Your leaders are gone. Your best fighters are lying ass-up on the ground around me. You’ve got nowhere left to go.”

The blue-armored woman paused, then holstered her pistols. “You have two options facing you _dar’manda _idiots: first, you can surrender yourselves to the Rangers and you’ll be shown leniency. You’ll join our ranks and travel to Fort Garfier for training. If not… well, the punishment for turning against your fellow Mandalorians is death. Effective immediately.”

The raiders glanced between themselves. She could almost hear them murmuring to each other over their helmet comms, casting her fearful looks behind their tinted black T-visors. She knew their resolve was weak; after she’d taken out the gang leader and their commandos, the rest of the grunts would inevitably fold under the scrutiny of a strong-willed opponent.

Ranger training 101: divide and conquer.

“Well?” she shouted. “What’s your choice?”

After a long moment of hesitation, one of the men slowly stepped forward, hands raised in surrender. “We… we don’t want more trouble, miss. We surrender. Take us to the fort.”

She stared at him, glad he couldn’t see the wide smile stretching across her face, then pretended to nod stoically. She gestured down the street and said, “If that’s the case, report to Ranger Igris. Green-yellow armor, you can’t miss her. She’ll restrain you asswipes and get you on a speeder heading for Fort Garfier for processing.”

She gestured to the ground in front of her. “Your buckets; ditch them here. You don’t deserve them anymore.”

Humbly, the remaining troops began filing out, pulling off their helmets and dropping them at her feet. They glared balefully at her, but didn’t raise any more of a fuss as a few of the local militia troops – who had silently watched her fight with the four commandos – escorted them to the other Rangers in the town.

She watched them go, then sighed and let her shoulders slump. It was an invigorating feeling, finishing up a job like this, but it was also exhausting. The sun was beating down on her and her suit’s temp-control systems were acting up again. Her forehead was soaked with sweat and she was sure there were a few dark patches on her suit in some unflattering places. Nevertheless, she adjusted her rough blue-cloth poncho once again and headed over to the water barrel set up just outside the main trading post.

One of the locals – an _aruetii_ from the look of him -- approached her as she walked. “That… that was amazing, ma’am.”

“That was mostly for show,” she admitted. “I had to show those bastards that there was someone out here scarier than their bosses. If that were real combat, it wouldn’t have been so flashy.”

“Still,” the man said. “You have my thanks. And the thanks of the entire town.”

She sighed as she pulled off her blue-gray helmet, revealing long blond hair that had come loose from its restrictive bun during the fight. She shook a few wayward strands from her face as she clipped the helmet to her belt.

“I don’t deserve your thanks,” she said. She grabbed a plastoid cup from a nearby stand and dipped it into the water barrel. After downing the entire cup in a few long gulps, she refilled it and poured it over her head. The ice-cold water was shocking, but still pleasant in the blazing heat. “It’s my job to do stuff like this. It’s nothing special.”

“Still,” the man said. “You’ve done more for us than any of those mercenaries we hired ever could. Thank you for that at least.”

She sighed and downed another helping of cool, refreshing water. When she’d finished, she put the cup back and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. _He’s a persistent bugger, I’ll give him that_.

“Fine,” she said. “You’re welcome. Just remember that if your town ever gets hit by the raiders again, we may not be here to intervene.”

“I understand. Your agents have been training the local farmhands well, and with the other Mandalorian workers we have here, we should have more than enough protection if we ever come under attack again.”

“Good,” she said. She jerked her head toward the center of town, where more _aruetiise_ farmers were gathering to watch the wrap-up of the Ranger’s operation. “Then you should get back to your people. It looks like you’ve got some explaining to do.”

He nodded and set off, leaving her alone for the moment. She took advantage of the short reprieve to turn back to the water barrel and submerge her head completely. When she emerged, water streaming down her face, she saw another Ranger, a young man in slate-gray armor, leaning against the trading post wall. He was smirking at her, arms folded across his chest.

“That’s a good look for you,” he said, nodding to her sopping wet hair.

She rolled her eyes and dunked her head again. When she emerged, she gasped at the cold water and said, “Remind me again why I signed up for the equator run? It’s so kriffing _hot_.”

“Good pay,” the man said with a shrug. “Better action. The farms here are all overrun with bandits and raiders. Never any shortage of gunfights down here.”

She sighed and brushed wet hair from her face. “Right. The glory run where we spend all our time and money protecting idiot _aruetiise_ from raiders who wouldn’t know the pointy end of a _beskad_ if they sat on it. I love this job. Go team.”

He laughed. “Come on, Tamai. You secretly love being the hero. Just think of it: Lady Tamai Vasser, the knight in shining armor who gallantly saves the inept foreigners from the ruthless villains come to steal their goats.”

She snorted. “Would a _lady_ tell you to go kriff one of the farmer’s goats?”

He pretended to wince in pain. “Oh Tamai, you _wound_ me.”

“Then go kriff yourself while you’re at it,” she said, then turned to face a similarly blue-armored man walking toward her. As he drew near, she snapped off a crisp salute.

“Ranger-Commander Bor, sir!” she said. “The commandos have been dealt with, and the remaining raiders are being bundled off to the fort as we speak. I’d say this quadrant is clear, at least for the next few weeks.”

The Ranger-Commander known affectionately as _The Boar_ was a tall, dark-skinned man in his mid-40s with more successful operations under his belt than many Supercommandos would ever see in their lifetime. A tangle of multicolored decorated combat ribbons hung from his shoulders and his belt, the tiny metal medallions at the ends clanking quietly as he moved. He looked around with narrowed brown eyes, taking in the various raiders splayed out in the street outside. He eventually nodded, looking impressed.

“Very good work, Ranger Vasser,” he said. “And while I did suggest you wait for reinforcements—”

“They were taking too long, sir,” she replied, while the gray-armored man behind her rolled his eyes.

“—I must commend you for your quick and decisive handling of the situation,” The Boar finished. He nodded to her. “Good work.”

“Thank you sir.”

The Ranger-Commander took one last look at the raiders in the street, now being cuffed by more Ranger troops, then turned on his heel and called, “Let’s go, people! We’ve got reports of Kalo wolf packs to the south! We’re moving out in twenty!”

Tamai let her rigid military stance fall, while the gray-armored man stepped up next to her and spoke in a high-pitched, singsong voice, “The reinforcements were taking too long, sir,” he said. “Yes, sir. No, sir. Can I lick your boots, sir?”

She playfully swatted him upside the head. “Shut up, nerf-herder. Just admit it: the points for this one go to me.”

He raised his hands in a placating gesture. “All right, all right. I should know not to try and compete with the best of us, Tamai. Just make sure to let someone else play the hero when we take on these Kalo wolves. It’s been your turn for too long.”

“It’s not my fault I love my job,” she shot back as the two headed back to the water barrel. It had only been a few minutes, but the heat had already parched her throat again. “In fact-“

She broke off when she noticed another Mandalorian jogging for her. Lightly armored, wearing brown armor and the _kyr’bes_ skull on his shoulder pad. A messenger from Keldabe, straight from the offices of the _Mand’alor_ himself.

Since the Rangers were so often on the move, switching from outpost to outpost across the Mandalorian frontier, comlink communication wasn’t reliable. There were huge swaths of the Mandalorian wilderness that could not get comm reception, and the Rangers had since learned to work without the technology. As a result, special orders or messages from the _Mand’alor_ or the Supercommando army had to be relayed in person by messenger. It was slower, but the message was sure to reach the intended target.

But messengers were rarely sent unless there was an emergency. If it was a matter as simple as troop reassignment or a call to serve with the Protectors, the _Mand’alor_’s offices would wait until someone of sufficient rank had reported back to the nearest comm-capable Ranger outpost: in this case, Fort Garfier. The necessary Ranger coalition could be out of contact for weeks or even months on occasion, but they always eventually checked back in to their outposts. If someone had sent a runner personally, it must be big news.

“Uh-oh,” the gray-armored man said, nodding to the messenger. “Looks like trouble.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “This better not be another message from Uncle Fenn. He’s got to understand I’m working down here.”

“Probably just worried about you. I’m not sure he liked it when you moved out of Keldabe.”

“He’s got other relatives he can pick on,” she said. “Clan Shysa’s a big family. He must get a kick out of annoying me.”

He punched her shoulder affectionately. “Would that we all had _te Mand’alor _as the doting, overprotective _ba’vodu._ You love the attention, _vod_.”

The messenger drew near enough to them and saluted quickly. But, to both their surprise, he wasn’t looking for Tamai. The man held the salute and said, “_Su’cuy, _Rangers. Where can I find Ranger-Commander Bor?”

“’_Cuy, vod_,” Tamai said with a frown. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to speak to Ranger Bor. That’s all I can say.”

“I’m Ranger Vasser,” she introduced herself. “One of the Ranger-Commander’s top agents. This knothead behind me is Ranger Lee. We’re authorized to hear any information you’re here to deliver to him.”

The messenger hesitated, then said, “Ten days ago, a Mandalorian terrorist by the name of Coro Caranthyr orchestrated a number of bombings throughout Keldabe. Hundreds were killed, many more injured.”

Tamai almost dropped her cup. “_What?”_

“Holy kriff…” Lee murmured next to her.

The messenger nodded. “It was Caranthyr’s intention to assassinate the _Mand’alor_, but he was ultimately unsuccessful. However, in response to the bombings, _Mand’alor _Shysa is recalling a number of Ranger teams and their commanders back to Keldabe for anti-terrorism training and reassignment.”

“Reassignment?” Lee echoed. “But we’re doing good work down here!”

“These orders come straight from Tobbi Dala himself,” the messenger said. “The team sent to counteract Caranthyr and the bombings barely managed to stop him, and Caranthyr himself escaped in the end. Shysa wants to be prepared in the event of another attack. The Rangers will still focus on frontier defense, but also be called upon for anti-terrorism operations in major cities across the planet.”

“Who were the poor sods assigned to track that _shabuir_ down?” Lee said. “I feel bad for them.”

The messenger frowned, thinking hard. “There were a number of local law enforcement officers. Officer Denton Dral among them.”

“Good man,” Tamai said. “I’ve met him on occasion. Not surprised he’d spearhead a defensive like that.”

“A few _aruetii_ auxiliaries as wel,” the man continued. “A _beroya_ by the name of Moqena and an Echani known as The Handmaiden.”

Lee glanced at Tamai, who shrugged and said, “I’ve got nothing. Strangers.”

She took a long swig of cool water while the messenger continued, “Also, I believe the bounty hunters Cin Vhetin and Brianna Bellan were responsible for rescuing a number of prisoners from Caranthyr’s base of operations.”

Tamai almost coughed up her drink. “_What_? Say that again.”

The messenger frowned at her. “I said that bounty hunters Brianna Bellan and Cin Vhetin were responsible—“

“I thought Vhetin was MIA after that explosion on Mon Calamari,” she pressed. “He’s been missing for the past three months. No word, no sign he was alive.”

“Apparently not. Eyewitness reports place him on the scene of several of the investigations. He and the _aruetii_ Bellan were publically congratulated for their efforts in rescuing the captives, though I’m told they both refused any kind of reward. I believe _beroya_ Vhetin’s only request was that someone pay for his medical expenses.”

“Medical expenses?” Tamai echoed, her voice tighter than she intended. “Was he hurt?”

“Radiation poisoning,” the messenger replied. “Quite severe from what I was told, but apparently he’s going to pull through.”

Tamai shook her head and stared down at her reflection in the surface of the water barrel. “Son of a bitch,” she murmured. “So he’s back…”

“You have some kind of history with this big-shot?” Lee asked her.

She sighed. “You could say that. An old friend. It’s… complicated.”

Lee pointed the messenger in Ranger-Commander Bor’s direction, then returned to his earlier spot leaning against the trading post wall. “An old friend, huh? Well you can probably see him again. If we’re all shipping back to Keldabe, you’ll have plenty of time to visit while we’re getting this fancy anti-terrorism training.”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she said, turning away from the water barrel.

“Oh? And why not?”

“Because,” she said, replacing her helmet. “If I see him again, I’m gonna kill him.”

“Ah. Is that literally or figuratively?”

“I don’t know. It depends on my mood at the time.”

“Right,” Lee said. “It’s complicated.”

“Uh-huh.”

Ranger-Commander Bor was busy gathering up the rest of the Rangers scattered throughout the town. While they were getting ready, the warbling drone of an old Wars-era LAAT/I troop carrier drowned out his orders. The ship roared over the town before it settled just beyond the outskirts, kicking up a thick cloud of dust and dirt as it did. Once the dust had settled, the bay doors on either side scraped open, beckoning them in.

Lee nudged Tamai’s arm with a grin and held out his fist. “_Oya_.”

She bumped her own fist with his, still frowning absently. “_Oya.”_


	26. Off Duty: Partners

**Keldabe Medcenter, one month after the events of _White Snow: Contention_**

“Cin? Can I come in or do you need a minute to find a mask?”

Vhetin quickly pulled his black cloth mask over his face, adjusting it before calling, “You’re good. Come on in.”

He turned to face the newcomer with a smile he knew she couldn’t see. “Jay. It’s good to see you.”

She smiled back at him and spread her arms. “Come on. It’s been weeks.”

He hesitated, but grudgingly allowed her to pull him into a friendly hug. “How have you been holding up?” she asked as they separated.

“Bored,” he sighed. “I’m itching for some action. And the shitty medcenter holonet broadcasts are driving me insane. It’s all reality shows and soap operas. Nothing of substance.”

“I sympathize,” Jay said. “I’m sorry you couldn’t come with me to Ord Cestus. It would have been nice to have you there.”

“I wish I could have been there too,” he said. “But my hands are almost healed and the docs say I should be good to leave in a week or so. I’ll be as good as new soon.”

“Let’s see.”

He raised his hands and flexed them. The livid, burned flesh was almost completely gone, replaced by his normal pale skin. The radiotherapy hadn’t even messed with the intricate green-black Kiffar tattoo that stretched down his right arm and over the back of his hand. He’d be good as new soon, and more than capable of getting back to work.

“What about the… other thing? The pneumonia.”

“That’s proving to be trickier. The docs haven’t seen anything like it,” Vhetin said, folding his arms across his chest. His masked face pulled down in a frown. “And I won’t let them send samples to Coruscant for study. It would just bring the Empire down on me again.”

“But there is a treatment?”

“A treatment? Yes. A cure? Not yet. For now they’ve managed to find a specific enzyme that slows the process of the virus to a crawl. As long as I stay on the meds, I should only vomit up preservative fluid a few times a month, rather than every day.”

She sighed. “Kriff… that sounds horrible.”

“It sounds worse than it is,” he said. “I can breathe just fine now and I don’t have to worry about accidentally infecting anyone with the serum. As long as I’m vigilant and stay on the medication, I should be fine.”

“But you’re still infected with the stuff! I’d hardly call that fine.”

“I’m not contagious,” he said, “and with time, the doctors are confident they can find a full-blown cure. And any more information we’re able to find out about what Whiteclaw was planning will only speed up the process.”

She shook her head. “I just wish there was more I could do.”

He sat down on the edge of the hospital bed and picked up a handheld datapad from a nearby table. Fifteen missed messages, almost all from his sister. She was pestering him about sneaking out and joining her and her other engineer friends for a night of Correllian poker. He sighed and deleted all the messages.

“Just think positive thoughts,” he said. “That’s about all I can ask of you.”

She nodded and settled herself into the chair next to the bed, sitting back and crossing her legs comfortably. “Any updates on Whiteclaw?”

“I still have Tarron looking into it for me. As one of the few foreigners allowed into the Hapan Consortium, he’s less likely to draw attention to himself. The Queen Mother trusts him and the Empire has no desire to cause a diplomatic incident with the Consortium, so even if he is caught he’s got somewhere to hide.”

“And what has he found out?”

“It doesn’t look like Whiteclaw was completely destroyed by the destruction of the research facility on Quorbus,” he said with a scowl. “Some of the researchers managed to evacuate in time, and Imperial Commando teams managed to pull quite a bit of equipment from the wreckage. They’re far from back on track, but they have the means and the motivation to do so.”

“So there’s still more to be done?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “After Quorbus, the trail goes cold. It’s like those who survived dropped off the map. There are rumors that they were reassigned to a new project.”

“Isn’t that a good thing? As long as they aren’t breeding monsters anymore.”

Vhetin shook his head. “I don’t know. Something about it seems… off. I don’t like it.”

They sat in silence for a few moments before Jay forced a smile and said, “Well that’s far off in the future for now. No sense worrying about what you can’t change.”

He chuckled dryly. “It’s almost like you don’t know me at all, Jay. Worrying about what I can’t change is a specialty of mine. But I guess you have a point. How did the contract on Ord Cestus go?”

She pulled a face. “It wasn’t all that special. The Cestans creep me out. Those compound bug eyes? Too freaky.”

“And the contract?”

“Some small-time jewel thief who surrendered without a fight. Again, nothing special. You’re the one with the talent for finding exciting contracts.”

He snorted. “I wouldn’t call it a talent, particularly considering we both almost die every time we take a contract of mine.”

She grinned. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Stripes. More memorable that way.”

He shrugged and rested back against the hospital bed, putting his feet up and resting his hands behind his head. “Well enjoy the boring contracts while you can, _vod_. I’ll be back in the swing of things in no time. Things will get more than exciting enough then.”

“Speaking of exciting,” Jay said with a mischievous grin, “what are these whispers I hear about you and Nurse Vachiira?”

He groaned. “You’ve been talking to Janada, haven’t you?”

She nodded, a smug grin on her face. “And it seems the two of you have gotten pretty close since I last saw you.”

He was glad she couldn’t see the blush burning his face. “It’s nothing. I just asked her to lunch. To thank her for taking such good care of me while I’ve been stuck here.”

“Uh-huh. And after that it just became habit? Sharing lunch almost every day?”

“She’s… friendly,” he said, cursing the guilty tone in his voice. “Damn it, Jay, you’re all blowing this out of proportion.”

“You know, she _is_ pretty cute. No one would blame you if-“

“Jay,” he said warningly. “Let it go.”

She raised her hands in surrender. “All right, fine. Excuse me for being glad you’re reaching out for someone who makes you happy.”

“I don’t…” he sighed. “I’m not good at this kind of thing, Jay. And having you and Janada poking and prodding at it isn’t helping. I feel like an idiot every time I talk to Alix as it is.”

“Alix?” Jay echoed. “You’re on a first-name basis already? That’s… right, sorry.”

He sighed and shook his head. “This is all just… confusing. I don’t like it.”

“Would it really be so bad to be involved with someone else? I know you and Brianna were together for years, but that’s over.”

He nodded. “I know. But… I don’t know, Brianna never asked for the fancy stuff. She and I were just… together_. _There was no need for _dating_.”

Jay snorted and muttered under her breath, “No wonder you two were always fighting.”

“What?”

She cleared her throat. “Okay, Cin. I’m going to give you a little lesson about the opposite sex. We _like_ being dated. We like to feel special. And before you say that Mandalorians are different, you’re not. I’ve seen the girls around Keldabe and whether they all pretend to be stoic and hate feelings and shit, they’re not that different from _aruetiise_.”

She grinned at him. “Just make this Alix girl feel special. Make her feel like you care for her and you’re already past this indecisive point.”

“But that’s just the thing,” he said. “I don’t know if I care for her. She’s… confusing.”

“But she’s nice.”

“Yeah.”

“And you like her.”

“I guess.”

“And she likes you.”

“She seems to.”

She threw her hands up in the air. “Then I don’t know what the problem is! People have built up meaningful relationships on less than that, Cin. Do you want to get closer to her or not?”

“I… I guess.”

“Then grow a pair and _do it_. If she were a bounty contract, would you prance around and complain about your indecision? No! You’d blast down the door, clap her in a pair of stun cuffs, and haul her away!”

She suddenly frowned. “And that metaphor just sounded a lot creepier when I said it out loud.”

He shrugged. “You’re right, I guess. I’ll… I’ll think over what you’ve said.”

“Good. That’s all I’m asking.”

It was good advice. It just wasn’t advice he was particularly happy to act on. While it was true he liked Alix’s company and she seemed to genuinely like him in return, he still felt guilty every time he asked her out to lunch, like somehow he was betraying Brianna. And while it was true she had left him almost four months ago now and he was within his rights to move on, he was still finding it difficult. Maybe Alix would offer him the peace he sought. He hoped so.

He stood from the bed and walked over to the cabinet on the far wall, where he was storing his gear for the time being. He began pulling on his armor, fastening the new, segmented armor plating to his flight suit when he was finished. Jay watched him arm up for a time before she cocked her head and said, “I do have another question for you, though.”

“Shoot,” he said, slipping on one armored gauntlet.

“When can I see your face?”

He froze. “What do you mean?”

“Well, everyone I know has seen your real face: Rame, Mia, Brianna, Janada. Even Denton, but he says you made him swear not to tell what you really look like. And now even your nurse has seen what you look like under that helmet. When do I get a turn?”

He still didn’t move. When he did, he looked down and picked up his helmet before pointedly securing it over his head. “I… I don’t know.”

In his HUD’s 360-degree view, he saw Jay’s lips tighten in irritation and her shoulders slump in disappointment. “I see.”

He turned to her. “It’s nothing against you, Jay. I’m just… not comfortable.”

“You seem more than comfortable going helmetless around everyone else,” she pointed out. “Why not me?”

“It’s… complicated.”

“Isn’t it always?”

He frowned as he stepped back over to the bed and sat down on the edge, adjusting his gauntlet as he did. “Jay, there were a lot of side effects from my accident. A lot of behavioral quirks that I have no intention of changing. I don’t like showing my face to anyone, even the people you just mentioned. Keeping my face hidden…. it’s just something I have to do.”

“But why? Why are you so shy about it?”

“It’s not something I can explain,” he said. “I just feel… safer, I guess.”

“So you feel unsafe around me?”

“No! That’s not what I’m saying. I just…”

He sighed. “After my accident, I couldn’t remember anything about who I was before. And every morning when I woke up, I was forced to look in the mirror and see a stranger. Someone… foreign and unfamiliar. I hated that feeling. And when I was eventually given my helmet, I saw a chance to make it into something far more familiar, something that was truly _me_.”

He stared at the ground, refusing to meet her gaze even through his HUD’s video readout. “I guess… I guess I just don’t want you to get too familiar with a face that’s not my own. With someone that isn’t who I really am.”

“But that _is_ who you really are.” She sounded more confused than anything else.

“But it’s not,” he said. “Not really. That face belongs to the thirteen-year-old boy who lived before the crash. Before the amnesia, before everything that made me who I am. That face belongs to someone else. And after seven years, I’m less and less inclined to treat that boy as who I really am inside. I don’t remember anything about him, so why should I bother?”

“This,” he said, pointing to his helmet faceplate, “is one of the only things that belongs solely to Cin Vhetin. _This_ is truly me, more than my real face could ever be. That face is just a mask, nothing more. And I wouldn’t want you getting familiar with someone who isn’t me. Someone who was never really me.”

He finally looked up at her. “Those other people who’ve seen my face… it’s not because I trust them more than you. It’s been a necessity more than anything else. And I guess the reason I don’t want to show you my face is _because_ I trust you. I trust you enough to know that you’ll have my back and stay with me even if you still don’t know everything about me. I trust you enough to treat _this_-“ He pointed to his helmet again, “as a better indicator of who I am than my nose or my eyes or my hair.”

She pondered over this, staring at him for a long time. But eventually she nodded and said, “I can respect that, even if I don’t understand it.”

He nodded, feeling relieved. But she continued, “But I’d still like to see your face. Maybe not today, not tomorrow, or even a year from now. But I’d like to see it all the same. You’re my friend. I want to know more about him than just the armor he wears.”

He hesitated, torn by indecision. It was a reasonable request, one that he had long known she would make sooner or later. He eventually cleared his throat awkwardly and said, “All right. Someday. When I’m comfortable with it.”

She nodded. “Okay. I can live with that.”

She stood from her chair and clapped him on the shoulder as she passed, a reassuring gesture. “Get better soon, Cin. We miss you out there.”

He nodded. “Thanks. I’ll be back before you know it.”

She nodded, then turned and left the room.


	27. Off Duty: The New Girl

_**Oyu’baat** _ ** Tapcaf, Keldabe, Mandalore**

Jay fidgeted in her seat as they waited for their drinks. It had already been fifteen minutes with no sign of them, and she was doubting more and more the wisdom of her plan to introduce Vhetin’s new girlfriend (if that was what was even going on between them) to the rest of the group.

Feigning nonchalance, she clasped her hands together and forced a smile. “So… how was the medcenter this week?”

Alix Vachiira was far from the typical native-born Mandalorian woman. She had pale, smooth skin, silky raven-black hair, and kind brown eyes. She was certainly attractive, but seemed to lack the usual rough beauty of a Mandalorian like Janada or Jay’s friend Wad’e Rangir.

She seemed nice enough, but was obviously just as uncomfortable as Jay. She returned a smile of her own that was just as tense and said, “Fine. Work at the medcenter was busy, but mostly calm. Nothing too exciting. It’s strange getting back to the normal routine now that Cin’s been released from our care.”

“Good… good…” Jay trailed off, tapping her thumbs together and thinking, _This was such a bad idea. Where are those damn drinks?_

It wasn’t that Vachiira was impolite, but Jay just couldn’t think of anything to say. She really had no connection to the woman besides their respective attachments to Cin. But at least she was trying. Janada, sitting next to Jay, was openly glaring at Vachira and hadn’t so much as spoken a word since she sat down. Her fingers were folded under her chin and her dark brown eyes were fixed on the newcomer to their circle. Vachiira shot her a nervous smile, then looked down at her lap, blushing a little. The Handmaiden, sitting at the end of their table, looked between the two with something akin to passive fascination, but had said nothing since greeting them.

“So…” Brianna eventually began from her seat to Jay’s left. Unlike Jay, she didn’t seem upset at all and actually seemed to be enjoying the discomfort Janada was putting their guest through. “What made you get into nursing, Vachiira?”

“Alix, please,” the raven-haired woman corrected her. “And I started studying nursing because of my aunt. A lot of my clan are battlefield medics or doctors. I wanted to continue the tradition.”

“A noble cause,” the Handmaiden said. “Among my people, medical personnel are highly valuable and highly respected. Combat healers are the most sought-after battlefield units, even among the Imperials who garrison our world.”

“Where are you from?” Vachiira inquired.

“Eshan,” the Handmaiden replied. “Homeworld of the Echani Battlemasters.”

“Ah. I have to admit, I don’t have much experience with Echani.”

“We rarely stoop to fraternization with less impressive species,” the Handmaiden muttered with a scowl at a passing Mandalorian in dark green armor. “Mine, however, is a… special case.”

Vachiira looked like she had regretted asking in the first place now. She nodded and murmured, “Fascinating,” then looked back down at her lap.

“Where are those drinks?” Jay muttered, glancing to the bar. The tender, Aramis, met her gaze and shrugged apologetically. Jay frowned at him, but sighed and turned back to the table. Janada had finally decided to pitch in.

“Do you fight?”

Vachiira looked at the engineer with something very close to fear and stammered, “W-what?”

“Are you a supercommando?”

“N-no.”

Janada narrowed her eyes and simply said, “Huh.”

Vachiira smiled nervously again and fell silent. Jay didn’t blame her; Janada seemed to be going out of her way to be intimidating. Jay didn’t know if she just didn’t like the woman or if she was having fun tormenting the new girl, but whatever the motivation it was working. Vachiira had barely spoken more than a few sentences since arriving at the _Oyu’baat_ and didn’t seem to want to speak any more than necessary.

Jay leaned over to Janada and murmured, “I thought you were the one pushing Cin to hook up with this woman.”

“I was actually kind of teasing,” the Mando woman muttered back. “I didn’t expect the numbskull to actually follow through.”

“Well go easy on her,” Jay murmured. “Look at her; she’s terrified.”

“Good,” Janada said, narrowing her eyes. “Where are those kriffing drinks?”

Brianna leaned back in her chair and attempted to change the conversation. “So how have things been going for you, Jay? The contract on Cestus went well?”

“All calm,” Jay said, glad to finally get conversation flowing again. “The guy didn’t even put up a fight.”

“Good. Seems like more idiot thugs are arming themselves these days. Contracts like that are getting more and more uncommon.”

The Handmaiden glanced over at Vachiira and said, “What of you? Do you have any experience in the field of bounty hunting?”

“Um… no. I’m not a very combative person.”

The Handmaiden stared at her. “I don’t understand.”

“I just don’t like fighting.”

The Handmaiden blinked and repeated, “I don’t understand.”

“Les here is an Echani,” Jay quickly explained. “Their culture is very competitive. Even more so than the Mandalorians sometimes. Their culture revolves around combat as a means of expression. It’s like communication for them.”

“Wait… you fight people to _talk_ to them?”

The Handmaiden fixed Vachiira with an icy stare. “Among my people, we believe that the only way to truly know another and understand that which drives them is to face them in combat. In battle, all superficial aspects of life are stripped away, leaving us with only our most basic sense of self: mercy, hatred, weakness, strength. All are expressed in their truest, most basic forms. There is no better way to learn the heart of another.”

She cocked her head. “I would like to fight you.”

“Les!”

The Handmaiden glared at Jay. “What? I merely expressed my wish to get to know this newcomer. She is an unknown factor. And I do not like unknown factors. I simply wish to know what it is your Mandalorian partner sees in this woman who does not enjoy combat.”

Jay sighed and rubbed her temples. “Les, some people aren’t as combat-oriented as the Echani. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion.”

“If that is the case then I will learn her personality quicker than most. She should not put up much of a fight.”

“No! You aren’t going to fight her.”

The Handmaiden scowled. “Very well.”

“You can fight me,” Janada said. “I haven’t had a good knock-down drag-out in ages.”

“I offer more than a simple fistfight. An Echani fights to express herself, to show to her opponent and the world exactly what she is capable of. All my considerable skill will be poured into combat.”

Janada shrugged. “Sounds like fun. You wanna say… ten minutes? Out behind the tapcaf?”

The Handmaiden bowed her head. “I look forward to it.”

Jay buried her face in her hands. “_Te manda_ save me.”

Brianna seemed to be watching the proceedings with amusement, leaning back and slinging an arm over the back of her chair. “Five credits on the Echani.”

Jay was about to bring the conversation to a halt when Vachiira surprised them all by saying, “Ten on Miss Bralor.”

It was a safe assumption that everyone present stared at her in open shock. She glanced between them, then smiled that same nervous smile. “What?”

“I thought you said you don’t like combat?”

“I don’t,” she replied. “But it’s plain to see that Miss Bralor has higher chances of winning.”

The Handmaiden narrowed her pale blue eyes and pursed her lips. “And why exactly is that?”

Vachiira hesitated. “Well… just look at her face.”

“Is that an insult?”

“Not at all. But you have several scars across your face, centered on the lips and the bridge of your nose, and your nose itself is slightly crooked; evidence that it has been broken on several occasions. The set of your jaw is slightly off-center as well – suggesting it was fractured at one point – and your right ear shows evidence of early cartilage separation and deformation. If left untreated this will result in what is known as Boxer’s Ear. All of these are wounds commonly associated with fistfighting and brawling.”

She looked at the Handmaiden. “You, however, Miss… is it Miss Handmaiden?”

The Handmaiden was still glaring at her. “Handmaiden alone will do.”

“All right. Handmaiden here has fair skin, largely unmarked by scars or blemishes, a straight and refined nose, and normal ear structure. There isn’t much evidence that she has seen many fistfights.”

“Or perhaps,” the Echani hissed, “I simply am skilled enough to not be struck during combat.”

“That’s a possibility,” Vachiira said. “But I bet on Miss Bralor because even if you are both equally skilled, Bralor shows greater signs of being able to _withstand_ punishment rather than simply dole it out. She can obviously stay standing even if outmatched in a technical sense.”

Janada stared at the nurse, then slapped her palms against the tabletop and said, “You know what? I’m starting to like you. I’m gonna buy you an extra round.”

She glanced over her shoulder and pointedly raised her voice. “Provided the _first_ round ever _gets_ here!”

She turned back to the others with a growl. “So, Vachiira, how exactly do you manage to be a native-born Mandalorian and _not_ like fighting?”

The woman traced at a carving on the tabletop, looking embarrassed. “I just never really found combat to be that exciting. It never appealed to me. My father taught me how to fight like every other Mandalorian, but I never took it any farther than that.”

She shrugged. “I prefer to save lives, not end them. So I trained with combat medics growing up and eventually took a position at the medcenter. It pays well and I enjoy my work.”

“And you get to schmooze with the patients, apparently.”

Vachiira blushed. “Cin is… a special case.”

“What…” Jay hesitated. She knew Cin didn’t like people prying into his personal life. But her curiosity was getting the better of her, so she said, “What made you two hook up anyway? No offense, but you don’t really seem like his type.”

“What is his type?”

“Me,” Brianna said bluntly. When Janada glared at her, she shrugged and said, “What? It’s true.”

“You _dumped_ him.”

“Yeah. That doesn’t change the fact that we were dating for almost five bloody years.”

“And you dumped him!”

Brianna tipped back in her chair, setting her boots up on the edge of the table and folding her arms. “Still doesn’t change anything.”

Vachiira was looking at Brianna with undisguised fascination. Jay couldn’t blame her; Brianna was the only one at the table who had known Vhetin from the beginning. She knew him better than anyone Jay had ever met, including his own sister.

“And what about you, Miss Bellan? If you’re more his type, how did you two get together?”

“The accent,” Janada muttered. “It had to be the accent. He couldn’t resist the fancy-pants Coruscant sound.”

Jay nudged the woman in the ribs.

Brianna frowned. “It’s… a long story. Suffice to say he was in a very bad place and I did my best to help him. We got close, then we just got… closer.”

“See, that’s the way it happened!” Vachiira insisted. “I was assigned to help him to his meals after he completed his radiotherapy and before I knew it, it was a date.”

“Would that we all managed to hook up that easily,” Janada said, resting her forearms at the table. “I had to threaten Verdo at knifepoint before he decided to go out with me.”

Jay burst out laughing. “Somehow I’m not even surprised. Why Verdo puts up with your shit is beyond me.”

“Look at me! I’m, like, one of the best-looking fems in Keldabe!”

“Yeah,” Brianna chuckled. “Oil stains and all.”

“Ah, those just add character.” The engineer looked over to see one of the _Oyu’baat_’s new refurbished serving droids whirring over to their table, carrying a tray of drinks. She let out a short curse and sighed, “_Finally_. Is Aramis paying you by the hour or something?”

The droid cocked its mechanical head and droned, “I do not understand. Droids are not paid to operate. Please, enjoy your beverages.”

It passed them their drinks, then zipped off to serve other customers. Janada passed each of them their drinks (save the Handmaiden, who had ordered a tall glass of ice water much earlier) then stared at Vachiira again. “So, I take it you’re planning to stick around with Cin?”

She blushed. “That’s the plan. For now at least.”

“Well… I guess you aren’t as bad as I thought. At least not yet.”

“Thanks. What a glowing endorsement.”

“Trust me,” Brianna said, sitting forward and raising her glass, “that’s the closest to a compliment you’re going to get out of her.”

Janada snorted, then raised her glass in toast. “All right. Glasses up, everyone. To the new girl.”

“To the new girl,” they all murmured, tapping their glasses together.


	28. Off Duty: Echani Training Begins

**_Void_ Cargo Bay**

The Handmaiden was inspecting the contents of one of the cargo boxes. The Mandalorian kept the contents of his ship admirably sparse and from her perusal, she had discovered the ship was stocked only with essentials. She found food rations, medicinal supplies, and crates upon crates of ammunition. In his profession, she assumed he needed a plethora of all three.

The longer she waited, the more she regretted her earlier decision to train the Mandalorian in the ways of the Echani. Despite his conduct over the course of Caranthyr’s bombings, he was still no Echani. And she was no Battlemaster. It was not her place to hand down her people’s traditions to anyone, let alone a brutish and uncultured mercenary.

Yet as she debated with herself, she also found herself increasingly confused. The Mandalorian, this Cin Vhetin, didn’t seem like the other Mandalorians she knew. He was calm and controlled, level-headed even in the worst situations. And, the most important as well as most irritating observation, he seemed to seek preservation of life over destruction. He had reprimanded her severely for killing a questionable suspect over the course of their investigation, had even entertained the thought of keeping her incarcerated as long as they were hunting Caranthyr.

She scowled as she ripped off the lid of another cargo box. Protein bars this time, neatly stacked and wrapped in case of emergency. She shook her head and moved on to the next one.

Mandalorians weren’t supposed to be merciful. They weren’t supposed to be kind. They were a brutal, violent people with a history of killing innocents to achieve their goals. They were ruthless and evil and…

She sighed and let her gloved palms lay flat against another crate. She needed to regain control of herself. Of course not all Mandalorians would be the same. They were different people, just as all Echani were different people. Still, it angered her that this man, who showed the faintest glimmer of promise if schooled under Echani teachings, was still one of them.

She narrowed her ice blue eyes. He was a Mandalorian. And he would always be a Mandalorian. It was already a fact that he would not be able to master the ways of her people. He may be fast, faster than a human, but he was not as fast as an Echani; it was not biologically possible even for him. The most he’d accomplish would be a pale reflection of Echani grace and battlefield perfection.

The thought comforted her. She would not be betraying her people, not really. He would not be an Echani in any sense of the word. Merely another barbarian seeking to reflect the perfection of the Echani way.

She pried the lid off a long, rectangular box and stopped short. There was no ammunition or food stocks inside, but rather a suit of armor. It was colored dark gray with two blue stripes up the side of the helmet, very similar to the Mandalorian’s current armor designs. But unlike his current suit, this design was much simpler and much more basic. The suit sported a gray-blue belt skirt and a more traditional Mandalorian cape fastened to the shoulders.

His suit? An old prototype maybe? She didn’t know or particularly care.

She reached down and traced the faceplate of the helmet with her gloved fingertips. How strange, that this simple T-shaped aperture of tinted black transparisteel could evoke such fear across the galaxy. That the simple arches and curved dome of this helmet could strike terror into the hearts of the galaxy’s most hardened criminals. By comparison, the bleached white robes and pointed hood of an Echani warrior were tame and unassuming.

She narrowed her eyes. These Mandalorians were brutes, it was true, but they commanded a fear and respect the Echani had not seen in centuries. From such luminaries as Mandalore the Ultimate to more recent boogeymen like Boba Fett, the Mandalorians had given the universe something to respect, something to treat seriously.

The Echani commanded no such power. They were respected by some, but only by those who held reverence for the glory the white-clad warriors had once held long ago. No bandits would shake in fear to hear an Echani was pursuing them. No hardened soldier would lay down his arms at the sight of white hair and unnaturally blue eyes. Even on Eshan, warriors were most often seen as little more than bloodthirsty hermits worthy of neither pity nor mercy.

It was despicable, and it made the Handmaiden jealous. And more than a little sad.

“Usually,” came a quiet voice from behind her, “a guest doesn’t go prying through her host’s personal belongings.”

The Handmaiden slowly straightened, not turning to face him. She kept her gaze fixed on the faceplate of the helmet at her feet. “This was yours?”

“It was.” Heavy bootsteps thudded against the floor behind her. “A long time ago.”

“What do they mean?” she asked. “In your culture, these colors hold meaning. What is it?”

“Blue for reliability,” he explained. “And gray for mourning something lost.”

She did not ask what he had lost. She understood better than most that such memories were best left in the past, and it was not her place to pry into his history. But she did say, “Your current armor. You told me it stands for justice. What made you change?”

She finally turned to face him and found him once more fully encased within his traditional Mandalorian battle armor: matte black, with stylized gray stripes adorning the hard planes and sharp corners of his armor. He had recovered his lost equipment from the battle with Caranthyr and was now fully ready for whatever trouble may come before him.

“What made you change?” she repeated.

“_I_ changed,” he said. “It’s hard to stay the same person after seven years, particularly given our profession. My priorities were different, so I figured I needed to alter my outward appearance to match.”

“And how many colors hold meaning among your people?”

“Seven major ones,” he said. “But not all hold meaning. Sometimes we choose colors simply because we like them.”

The Handmaiden looked back down. “Things are simpler on Eshan. We have only two colors that hold meaning: white stands for honor and all things Echani, and black stands for rebellion and shame. There is no middle ground.”

“You’ve mentioned this before.”

“It is central to our iconography and quite important to our very survival. White robes help us blend with the snow, camouflage us to our enemies’ eyes. Those who are exiled are branded with black colors to stand out, where they would be easily preyed upon by native predators or bandits.”

“Harsh,” he said. “But it has a kind of poetic justice to it, I guess.”

She turned to him and hooked her arms behind her back. “Are you ready to begin?”

He flexed his shoulders, the thick metal plates shifting and clanking together as he did. “I’ve been out of the medcenter for a few days now. The doctors have given me the green light for deployment with the Supercommandos. Is that good enough?”

She nodded. “I am satisfied.”

She secured the lid back on the armor locker and motioned for him to follow her to the center of the room. Once there, she settled herself down into a seated, cross-legged position, staring at him expectantly. He followed suit, a little more awkwardly because of his heavy _beskar_ armor.

“Before we begin, it important for you to understand that our combat is deeply rooted in the practices and tradition of our culture. I do not expect you to adopt our traditions as your own, but I do expect you to at the very least possess a working knowledge of them.”

He nodded. “Very well.”

“Good. Then remove your helmet.”

He froze. “What?”

“Among my people, it is considered the height of arrogance to avoid eye contact while speaking. Even blinking is considered a necessary evil at times. So please, remove your helmet. I will not ask again.”

Still he hesitated. “You know how uncomfortable it makes me.”

“Your personal discomfort is not my concern. You will obey the ways of my people or I will not train you. It is that simple.”

He waited, obviously thinking hard. Then he reached up and grasped the sides of his helmet. The seal popped with a loud hiss of pressurized air escaping. He set the helmet to the side, resting it on the floor next to his knee. Beneath the helmet, he wore a black cloth facemask that left only his eyes visible. Blue, like an Echani’s. She grimaced at the thought and quickly pushed it away to the back of her mind.

“Is this good enough?” he asked, obviously praying she agreed.

She was not here to comfort him. And while wearing such a mask obeyed the letter of the tradition, it did not fulfill the spirit of it. So she shook her head and said, “It is not. Your mask must be removed as well. It is our way.”

He sighed. “I don't like this.”

She frowned at him “I am not asking that you like it. I am asking that you follow the customs asked of every Echani youngling from my oldest ancestors to me.”

He sighed and grudgingly reached up to remove his mask. Hooking his fingers under the hem, he drew it up and over his chin, then in a swift motion pulled it off completely. He took a long breath as he set the mask aside. His eyes were squeezed shut, as if he were trying to convince himself it was not real.

Handmaiden noticed the way his hands trembled and her face softened against her will. “Among my people, appearances mean nothing. Actions speak more about what a person truly is inside than their physical features ever can.”

He nodded, staring down at his lap. She looked at him for only a few moments, her eyes darting over his features, studying him. Then she lowered her gaze as well. She reached out and gently picked up his helmet. She studied it in the same way for a few silent moments, turning it over in her hands.

It was heavy, far heavier than she had expected. She saw that the inside of the helmet was padded along the dome to prevent brain injury, and what appeared to be a simple transparisteel T-visor from the outside was actually a mess of electronics and sensory equipment on the inside. She had heard of such devices, holographic head’s-up-displays that fed the user all manner of information about the environment. Why he would wish to encase himself in such a device was beyond her.

Her voice was very soft as she murmured, “You fear to show your true face?”

He let out a shaky breath. “You have no idea.”

“Why? Why would you be ashamed of who you are?”

“It's...” he swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry. “It's a very long story. Suffice to say that I take no comfort in my own appearance. It is not who I am.”

“You have nothing to fear from yourself, Cin Vhetin,” she said, glancing over at his face again. “Your features are nothing to be ashamed of.”

“You’re very kind. But this is not a part of me that is going to change. I can’t alter it as easily as I alter my armor.”

She could understand that at least. So she bowed her head and said, “Very well. I cannot expect you to follow my customs while holding no respect for yours. Let us move on to more pressing matters.”

“Please,” he said. “Let us.”

She set his helmet aside, then pulled the retracted hilt of her staff from her belt and held it out before him. He made no move to take it from her.

“This,” she explained, “is the weapon we shall be training with: a ceremonial Echani quarterstaff. It is a half-meter cylinder of durasteel-phrik alloy, wrapped with Echani iceleather to provide a better grip for the wielder. At the press of a button, twin beams spring from either side of the hilt transform it into a two-meter battle staff capable of carving through six inches of solid durasteel if struck with enough force.”

“Impressive,” he said. “And there are no blades? No vibro-initiators?”

“No. The ends are flattened and there is no higher technologies in its construction. It is a blunt-force instrument, handed down from mother to daughter from generation to generation. The Echani focus not on advanced technology but on perfecting the greatest weapon of all.”

“What weapon is that?”

The Handmaiden narrowed her eyes. “Ourselves. The physical body. Mind, muscle, fist and foot. We train ourselves to become instruments of war, as dangerous as the sharpest blade or the deadliest rifle.”

She set the quarterstaff on the floor between them. “An Echani trains to become more than a warrior, but to become a _weapon_. So that any Echani, from the greatest Battlemaster to the lowliest Handmaiden, can never truly be disarmed or robbed of our ability to defend ourselves.”

She pulled her hood down over her shoulders, revealing her shoulder-length bleached white hair. “These are the skills I offer you. Such disciplines take years to learn and many, many more to master. You, however, will not be physically capable of mastering them. But should you succeed in passing the training I offer, you will be faster, stronger, and deadlier than you can even begin to imagine now.”

“And if I fail?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Then you will simply prove my suspicions that Mandalorians are not capable of learning higher levels of combat perfection. You will cease to be my pupil and we shall go our separate ways. I will not lead you by the hand throughout this training, Mandalorian. You will succeed and be forged anew, or you will fail and I will not train you again.”

He pondered over this, then nodded. “All right. I’m ready.”

“Good.” She rose to her feet and produced a second quarterstaff from her belt. It was a simpler device, with no intricate Echani runes carved into the iceleather bindings, and no signs of wear on the hilt. It was a sparring staff, reserved specifically for these situations. She tossed the weapon to him and said, “Prepare. Before I begin to teach you, I must first learn of your skill level already. You show promise when battling with your lightsaber pike. Such skill may be transferable.”

“Okay,” he said, easily snatching the metal cylinder out of the air. He extended the twin beams of either end and spun the weapon between his hands to test its weight. His wrists twisted, arms shifting and moving to propel the staff along its path. There was a grace to his motions that she had not seen before. The pale grey durasteel blended into a dizzying blur of color as he whirled the weapon around his back. He then grasped the hilt tightly and shoved the weapon forward. The staff froze still in the air, barely moving.

“An impressive thrust,” she noted.

“It’s an impressive weapon,” he replied. “It’s light. Lighter than my saber pike. Are you sure it can stab through durasteel?”

“If force is applied in the correct manner. The quarterstaff is a precision instrument. With no vibroblades or energy weapons, the staff is not meant to cut or stab or maim. It is a blunt-force weapon, intended for reach, defense, and swift, accurate strikes. If force is applied correctly to a well-aimed thrust or a powerful swing, the hardened phrik beams are capable of doing much damage. But if force is applied incorrectly, the blow will fall short and force will rebound through the staff and do just as much damage to the user.”

“I know basic melee weapon physics,” Vhetin said.

“Yet you are pampered by your use of energy weapons,” the Handmaiden pointed out. “If you stab incorrectly with your lightsaber or hit something stronger than you, the blade merely carves it in two. There is no resistance, no force to oppose you. The quarterstaff can be a deadly weapon, but it can also harm you if you do not treat it with respect.”

“What, now you’re telling me I have to be polite to my weapons?”

“Your weapons serve you well on the battlefield when they are well maintained and well-used. You do not use a rifle as a club, do not use your lightsaber pike as a ranged weapon. The same concept is true here. Respect the quarterstaff’s strengths and weaknesses, understand the limits of its reach and power, and it will never fail you.”

He retracted the beams with a short nod. “All right. I’ll do my best.”

“I fear,” she said, “even that will not be enough.”

“You keep saying that,” he said. “But you seem to forget I’m not as weak as a human. I can move faster in battle than any normal warrior. And my Teras Kasi training isn’t exactly something to scoff at either.”

“Speed is not everything,” she replied. “Yet your Teras Kasi training tells you that the faster you can overcome your enemy, the better you are as a fighter. To fight as an Echani, you must instead use your knowledge of combat tactics to _study_ your enemy.”

“So I should purposefully hold back? What good with that do me?”

“Not hold back. But use the movements of combat to learn more than just your enemy’s strengths and weaknesses.”

She stepped away from him and drew the quarterstaff, aiming it toward the floor. He folded his arms across his chest, obviously waiting for a demonstration. She performed a few basic quarterstaff moves: stabs, parries, and distracting spins.

“Battle among my people,” she said as she moved, “is a form of communication. Through combat, one may learn more about an opponent in a matter of minutes than over months of conversation.”

He chuckled, leaning on his staff. “And I thought Mandalorians weren’t big talkers.”

“To use an old human phrase,” she said, speeding up her motions, “talk is cheap. In battle, all superfluous distractions of life are washed away. Adrenaline and emotion combine, leaving combatants open to moments of pure, unadulterated expression of emotion: mercy, fury, hatred, compassion. In the height of combat, people show you who they truly are inside by means of their stance, their form, and their actions as they fight you.”

“I’ve fought plenty of people,” he said, watching as she threw herself into an impressive whirling leap and landed with legs spread, evenly distributing the force of her fall. “And I’ve never been able to gain insight into criminal psychology through fighting them.”

“You are untrained,” she said smoothly, coming to a halt. It didn’t quite sound like an insult this time. “You do not know what to look for. But it is the way of my people to study battle, to immerse ourselves in the ebb and flow of combat, in order to better understand our enemies.”

“But it’s all just theory,” he pointed out. “You can’t actually predict how someone will act just by watching them.”

“There are psychologists, con men, and magicians who can predict what beings are thinking simply by reading clues from the subtlest facial cues or bodily movements. It is far from uncommon. My people employ a similar practice, yet put to a different, far more extreme use.”

She demonstrated, taking a slow step forward, raising her staff, and performing a smooth, graceful striking motion. “The slightest flick of the eyes, the smallest shift of balance, or the quietest hitch of breath can give clues as to an opponent’s next move. Echani are trained to see these actions, to anticipate potential outcomes merely by watching and observing.”

“But if you can take your opponent out quickly,” he said, carefully watching her movements, “you can conserve time and energy for your next target. A soldier can’t afford to waste time on a single target when others are waiting.”

“But what if your target shares his training with his fellows?” she pointed out. “What if he flees and lives to fight another day? Is it not better to know the foundational style of his combat, the most basic way he and all his fellows interact with their environment? Such things can be immeasurably useful in the future.”

He paused, considering this. “I… maybe.”

“The way of an Echani,” she said, lowering her staff, “is not one of brute force or violence. We favor tactics over brutality, and precision over power. We are trained to seek out the weak points of a single warrior and apply that weakness to the group as a whole, to devastating effect.”

He shook his head. “I guess I’m still having trouble believing you can understand a person’s personality just by watching them. I mean, combat style I get, but-“

“From our brief time working together,” she suddenly interrupted him, “I can tell you are a formidable warrior. You hold yourself distant from more violent and extremist bounty hunters, acknowledging you are part of the same profession and capitalizing on the fear your profession creates, but very rarely agreeing with their motives or actions.”

She rested her hands on her hips and continued, “You have a very strong sense of morality, and you always attempt to do the virtuous or kind thing, even in everyday matters. You hold your female companions in very high regard and conform to traditionalist viewpoints of courtesy to women in general. You do not interact much with others, not because you are antisocial but because you prefer silence to speech. You believe that your own weaknesses and shortcomings lead to your failures and, though you are determined to overcome them, you do not always believe you will succeed. Maybe you believe that is simply _part of who you are_, or maybe you believe that your successes will only lead to greater failures later, but you ultimately believe you will always be inadequate when compared to-“

“That’s enough,” he suddenly snapped, voice tense.

She stopped short. The fury in his voice surprised her. “I… I am sorry. I was merely demonstrating what I had learned about you from observation.”

“You could have learned that from anyone I know,” he said with a deep scowl. “It doesn’t prove anything.”

“I learned it by watching you in combat,” she said. “May I explain my words?”

He said nothing, which she took as an assent. She pulled in a deep breath and quietly began, “It does not take an Echani to tell you are a formidable warrior. But I know you do not agree with other radical bounty hunters simply because of your appearance.”

She gestured to his armor. “Your battle suit is made of well-forged Mandalorian iron that, despite seeing countless battles, has been expertly maintained. You obviously believe respectable appearances are important, which goes against the beliefs of other hunters who attempt to look as fearsome as possible, or carry the trophies of their kills upon their person.

“Your sense of morality is equally obvious,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “You hold yourself to a higher standard of justice and stick to that standard even though it leads you through great pain and suffering. I have also watched you interact with many of your female companions, and I have come to the belief that you would not seriously harm a woman in a situation that did not threaten your life, even if she attempted to harm you.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

She gave him a small smile. “I was watching you while we battled Caranthyr’s forces. Whenever pitted against a female fighter, you shifted your weight onto your heels when striking. You dulled your blows slightly to injure and incapacitate, but not kill. I do not believe you would afford all your enemies with the same courtesy.”

“We were under orders to take Caranthyr’s men alive,” he grumbled. “We weren’t supposed to kill them.”

She nodded with a knowing smile. “If you insist.”

“And what about the feelings of inadequacy?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Because for all I know, Janada could have fed you that line just to mess with me.”

“Whether you consciously believe it or not, it is still true,” she said. “I have seen the way you have struggled to return to health and fitness after your return from captivity. You spar alone, working to regain much of the muscle memory lost during your incarceration, yet you often end your training matches prematurely. You are frustrated by your inability to perform actions you once found easy. For a time you worked hard to improve, attempted to fine-tune your combat performance. Now, however, you simply mirror the intended combat forms to the best of your current ability. You believe you will not master the techniques in such a weakened state, so you simply move on to other endeavors, no doubt believing you have done your best. However, the anger in your stride after such training matches is difficult to overlook. You are angry at yourself because you do not possess the grace and poise you once did. Though it is no fault of your own, you still believe it is a personal failing.”

She cocked her head. “Such a belief is not unique to a sparring match,” she said. “This is an outlook beings carry with them for a very long time. And since being released from captivity I have not seen progression, which means you are not attempting to change it.”

She bowed her head. “I apologize if my observations have angered you. Such was not my intention.”

He shook his head, obviously at a loss for words. “That… that was incredible. Offensive as hell, but incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It is a custom among my people,” she said. “We are masters of the battlefield, and not simply because of our lethality. The most skilled of Echani Battlemasters have been rumored to be able to predict the course of entire wars simply by observation. Upon a time, we were the most highly-sought battlefield tacticians in the galaxy. Now, though…”

She trailed off into silence with a shrug, staring absently at the floor tiles. The Echani had fallen far over the centuries, seen now as little more than bloodthirsty vagabonds clinging to ancient and outdated traditions. On Eshan, they were abandoned by the Empire, left to fend for themselves amid the deadly snow. Those who had the misfortune of living within the cities were herded into slums and called Whitehairs or Bleach-heads, spat on with derision by those who used to fear them.

She sighed and shook her head, focusing on the task at hand. She was drawn back to the present when the Mandalorian nodded and said, “Okay. Consider my mind officially open. Where do we go from here?”

She took a moment to gather her thoughts, then pulled off her elbow-length black gloves. The air within the ship’s cargo bay was dry and warm, very unlike the frigid conditions in which she was used to training. Such an atmosphere would lead to excessive sweating and quick exhaustion, but it would have to do.

“I believe you are ready to begin learning the basic tenets of my culture’s martial arts,” she said. “We shall begin with the first and simplest of the three tiers of combat.”

Then, with a quick and calm motion, she unzipped her hooded combat suit's top and set it aside. Within moments she had also slid out of her boots and pants, putting them with her combat suit. She now stood in nothing more than a bra and panties – white, like the rest of her clothing. Her skin was very pale, and quite a lot of it was very blatantly visible.

He stared at her with wide eyes for a moment before quickly turning his back and saying, “Um... what the hell are you doing?”

“What?”

“Why did you just take your clothes off? Is this some weird way to throw me off-balance for our fight?”

“How could a lessening of protective garments make me more effective in combat?”

“Let's just say that it might draw my observations away from the way you're standing during the fight. How can I concentrate on defending myself and studying your motions if you're half-naked?”

“Echani sparring rituals are centered on self-improvement. In fights such as this, one may come to rely upon the protection offered by one's equipment. When all advantages are stripped away, all that is left is the raw power, speed, and grace of one's own body.”

“I think I can learn that just fine if we're both fully dressed,” he said. “Can you at least put a shirt on?”

“Your modesty has no place here,” she said, amused. She rested her hands on her hips. “One should not be embarrassed by the sight of another's body. It is merely muscle, blood, and bone. A weapon, if trained correctly.”

“If you say so…” He slowly turning back around. He made sure to keep his eyes fixed on her face. “I assume I need to strip down as well?”

She inclined her head in response. “Your bodysuit should be adequate.”

He sighed as he began pulling off his jetpack and gauntlets. “I don't like this.”

“Technically,” she said, the amusement in her voice growing stronger, “Echani duels are meant to be fought with no protective garments whatsoever. We fight in nothing but our own skin, like ancient gladiators. Consider that.”

“I'd rather not,” he said as he undid the restraints on his armored flak vest. Once done, he knelt to undo his boots. “It's hard enough to stay focused with you in your underwear.”

“Then feel fortunate that you must suffer only this small indignity.”

He snorted. “It's still uncomfortable. I don't know about you, but I don't make a habit of locking myself in my own cargo bay with beautiful, half-naked women. People tend to make assumptions when they hear about stuff like that.”

“You find my features attractive?”

He paused, a very slight blush creeping up his cheeks. She narrowed her eyes in amusement at the sight. It was enjoyable to see him so unsettled, so far from the smug and superior Mandalorian warrior he believed himself to be.

“I do,” he finally said, glancing up at her. “But what does it matter? You’ve said before you have no interest in men.”

“I do not,” she admitted. “And I advise you keep your baser instincts in check. Such emotions will cloud your judgment during our battle.”

“Consider them checked,” he said, straightening. He scooped up his quarterstaff and bounced on the heels of his feet anxiously. “Now are we going to do this or what?”

She drew her quarterstaff again, flicking her wrist and extending the twin beams of the weapon. “Very well. Show me what you can do.”

He tensed, drawing his own weapon. He raised it in a balanced defensive position, shifting his balance from foot to foot. He narrowed his ice-blue eyes, then leaped forward.


	29. Off Duty: Nightmares

_Screams. Flashes of light. Bursts of fire. Shattered transparisteel flying through the air, spearing through the walls like tiny glittering knives. People jerk in their seats, tossed about by turbulence. A body flies past; a woman, screeching in terror as she goes._

He shook his head, thinking, _No. No. Not again._

_Someone reaches across, buckling the crash webbing across his chest. He’s screaming like everyone else. Part of the bulkhead tears away into open air, taking out an entire row of seats further ahead. He squeezes his eyes shut as a rushing sound fills his ears. Roaring, rushing, pounding wind surrounding him, tugging at him, yanking him further, further…_

_Someone grabs his chest, frantically trying to keep him in his seat. Too late. The wind gives one last, forceful yank and he’s flying free into open air. Someone calls his name, but he doesn’t hear it. What is it? What did they shout?_

_The world fades out to white, the rushing noise drowning everything else out. He’s still yelling, tumbling head-over-heels until-_

He thrashed his head, clenching his hands into fists.

_Pain! Everything is burning! Like a thousand razor-sharp knives digging into every inch of his skin, his bones, everywhere. He tries to cry, tries to wail in pain, but dirt is clogging his throat. He tries to move, but something heavy and cold is pinning him to the ground. He’s face-down in the dirt, trapped there._

_Voices, off in the distance. He can’t make out what they’re saying. His ears are ringing, like the wind is still rushing around him. The ground feels soggy and damp beneath him; his blood soaking the ground, but he doesn’t know it._

_The voices draw closer. He can make out their voices now, shouting and calling to each other._

“_Holy kriff, look at it! What kind of ship do you think it was?”_

“_Not now, Brianna. Fan out. Look for survivors.”_

“_You really think there will be survivors from a crash like that? It must have been a transport of some kind. Ran into trouble and crashed. High-altitude repulsor explosion, maybe.”_

“_Brianna! Fan out!”_

“_Oh. Right.”_

He moaned, tearing at the sheets that trapped him in his bed. His head was pounding and he could feel a familiar deep burn behind his eyes, but he couldn’t wake up.

“_Hey! I think I’ve got one here!”_

“_What is that he’s buried under? Looks like an entire section of the bulkhead crushed him on the way down!”_

“_Good thing too. It protected him from most of the rest of the shrapnel coming down from the crash. He would have been speared in at least twenty places otherwise.”_

“_Well don’t just stand there! Get this thing off him.”_

_The scraping sound of tortured metal being lifted away. His world shakes, like the very ground beneath him seeming to tremble. He lets out a groan as he feels the weight begin to lift from his chest. With a tortured shriek and more than a few grunts and groans from his saviors, it shifts and disappears entirely. There was a massive crash as whatever was pinning him slammed to the ground next to him._

“_We’re clear.”_

“_It’s… It’s just a kid.”_

“_Holy kriff, look at him! He looks like that cheese with all the little holes!”_

“_Brianna, run back to the house and get a stretcher.”_

“_But I want to see!”_

“_Rame, we don’t have time. This kid is going to bleed to death before we can safely move him. Brianna, grab his leg. I’ll take the other one. Rame, his arms. We’re going to haul him back to the farmhouse.”_

“_Mia, moving him could kill him.”_

“_And leaving him here will be just as bad. Now grab his arms!”_

_He felt hands roughly latching on to his limbs. There was a moment of weightlessness, then the world erupted into blinding, white-hot agony that raced through his veins._

He began yelling, arching his back and thrashing. He knocked over something heavy, heard it clatter to the ground. He was awake now, as awake as he could be. But the visions kept coming, faster than ever.

_Knives, digging deep into his skin. Blood welling. He can feel the shrapnel being dragged from his back, sliding free with a wet sucking sound. He tries to fight, tries to move, but someone puts a mask over his head and he falls into a deep, dreamless sleep._

_Days pass. He wakes up in an unfamiliar room. The door is barred, his chest and back are wrapped with thick bandages. He doesn’t know why. His wounds hurt but he ignores the pain. He acts on instinct and attacks the first person who enters, grabs her by the throat and presses a sharpened splinter he’d been carving against the flesh there. She fights back. She’s surprisingly quick. He hurts her, but she eventually pins him to the ground and handcuffs him. It’s days before they take the handcuffs off again._

_Months pass. They tell him he has brain damage. That it’s going to take time to re-learn what he knew before. Even the simple things: talking, walking. They want to teach him how to fight. How to shoot. How to kill. They say it’s their way, their culture. They have a name, but he can’t pronounce it yet._

_More time. He can pronounce it now. Mandalorians. They are Mandalorians. And they want him to be one too. The girl, the one who was there at the beginning, is always nice to him. But she’s not a Mandalorian. She’s pretty. She smiles at him._

_They call him Cin._

His eyes flew open, pale blue-white light pouring from his eye sockets. Smoky discharge wafted up into the air as he sucked in a deep breath and continued screaming. He sat bolt upright, his muscles tightening and shaking, but the visions wouldn’t stop. His vocalizations grew louder and more forceful, a primal, animalistic roar of fear, anger, and pain.

_Years pass. He’s being hauled away by a squad of stormtroopers. They roughly tear away his armor, taking his weapons from him as they shove him through the reinforced doors of a heavily-guarded security checkpoint. They rip his belt off and one of the troopers pulls something from the belt. It’s a tiny picture, a picture of her._

_He surges forward, trying to snatch it from them. They can’t have that. They can have everything else, but not that. But they jab him in the ribs with a stun prod. He falls to the ground, spasming. He tries to crawl forward and grab the painting, but a white-armored boot descends and grinds it into dust._

_Months pass. Every day, the needles come back. They pierce his skin, pump ice-cold liquid into his lungs. He shouts and resists, but he can’t do anything. Every night, he dreams he’s back, trapped under that heavy slab of shrapnel. He tries to find a way to not sleep, to stay awake as long as possible. At least until sleep deprivation forces him to pass out from exhaustion._

_They come for him again: white-cloaked doctors with datapads and needles. They’re guarded by stormtroopers and heavy, clanking darktrooper droids. They reach out to him with their cold, too-dry hands. Reaching, reaching._

_The needles come back. Always, the needles come back._

He heard the door crash open and a worried voice shouted, “Cin!”

All at once, the voices stopped. The visions stopped. In the span of an instant, the real world came rushing back to him, all senses flooding back at once. The blue light pouring from his eyes instantly blinked out, leaving him sweating and blinking rapidly as his sight began to return. He gasped and shrank back against the wall, tucking his knees close to his chest. His breath was high-pitched and wheezing as his eyes frantically darted around the room.

The bed shifted as someone sat down next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. A gentle, soft hand, accompanied by the scent of… djiso flowers.

He gasped again, unable to control his breathing. “Brianna?”

“Ssh,” she said. “It’s me. I’m here.”

“Bri…” He could barely pick her out amid the shadows in the room. He couldn’t even tell if it was her or if it was just another figment of his imagination. He drew away from her, still able to see the hands reaching out for him, groping at him from the dark.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to drive the apparitions away. The logical side of his brain told him it was just remnants from his visions, that they were not real. But he could still see them, could still feel the needles piercing his skin. He held his head and let out a groan, the last few wisps of psychometric discharge wafting away into the shadows.

“Make them stop,” he hissed through clenched teeth. Brianna tried touching his arm again, but he jerked away before she could. “Make them go away. Make them leave me _alone_!”

He shouted it at the corner, where one of the doctors was standing. “_Leave me alone!_”

Brianna’s voice sounded a little fearful now. “Cin, it’s just me. Just Bri. Calm down.”

She grabbed him and pulled him close, drawing him into a tight, warm hug. He let out a gasp and clung to her, closing his eyes and letting her touch and her scent wash away the memories that still flickered through his mind’s eye. She rocked back and forth a little, just like she used to when they’d still been teenagers.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “It’s okay, Cin.”

Slowly, his breathing began to slow, his pounding heart easing back a little. When he opened his eyes, the doctor standing in the corner was gone, replaced by an angular metal illuminator lamp. He sighed and buried his face in Brianna’s neck.

“Another of your nightmares?” she asked. “I forget what you called them.”

“Psychometric relapse,” he gasped. He latched on to the ability to speak, anything to draw his brain away from the dreams. “My abilities kick in while I’m dreaming. It stimulates my brain’s dream cycle, feeds off of it. I get trapped in psychometric memories. Anything I’ve touched before becomes fair game.”

“You haven’t had one of those dreams in years.”

“Things change,” he hissed.

“And this time it was?”

He shivered. “Lots of things. The crash. The surgery after. The… the Imperials.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a shaky sigh and hugging her tighter. “Ever since Quorbus, it’s been the same. Every night, every time I so much as close my eyes, it all comes back. I can’t… can’t stop it. It’s like… like my psychometry is out of control.”

“How many times have you relapsed?”

“Almost every other night since escaping. It’s… I can’t handle this, Brianna.”

“Shh,” she murmured, rubbing his back reassuringly. “It’s okay. You’re going to be fine.”

He eventually drew back, holding her at arm’s length. “Bri… what are you doing here?”

“Heard you were still feeling under the weather,” she said, “and it’s only been a few days since you were released from the medcenter. I figured you needed someone keeping an eye on you. It appears I was right.”

“How did you get in? The door was locked.”

She laughed. “It’s been almost two months since you got back and you still haven’t changed the entrance code. I thought security was more important to you.”

She cocked her head. “I’ve been camping out on the couch outside since you went to bed. Figured I’d wake you up with a nice breakfast. In celebration of you surviving radiotherapy.”

“Does Snake know you’re here?”

Her smile vanished and she looked away. “He… uh, no. He doesn’t.”

“Is it smart for you to be here? Considering our history?”

“Galaar talks a big game, but he knows better than to muscle in on my personal stuff. Let me worry about him.”

“I can’t do that. My dreams… the worst ones are about you. About you being held hostage by those slavers on Dxun. Or being shot back on Mon Calamari. Remember?”

“Cin…”

“I can’t,” he said, shrinking away again. “It’s… it’s different now, Brianna. The dreams… they won’t go away. Before, all I had to do was wake myself up and I was fine. But the other day, I was stuck like that for almost two hours. Woke up with a massive nosebleed and the migraine to end all migraines.”

He stared at her. “Do you know how dangerous it is for me to do that? To be stuck in a psychometric nightmare for that long? I run the risk of a having a stroke. Or an aneurism. I could die in my sleep and not be able to do anything about it.”

He shook his head. “If you hadn’t come in when you did… tonight may have been that night.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“I can’t help it,” he hissed. “I… I can’t stop this, Brianna. Being stuck with the Imperials… it changed things. About me. I can’t stop thinking about Quorbus… and the tests… and…”

He let out a shaky breath, his whole body quivering. “I look at the people on the streets and all I see are potential Imperial plants, just waiting to turn me back in. Every comm call I make feels like it’s being monitored. Every time those doctors in the medcenter came to take me to radiotherapy felt like I was being taken away to the Tests all over again.”

He stared down at his hands, which were shaking so bad he could barely hold them steady enough to see in the darkness. He clenched them into fists. “I wasn’t ready. When I tried to take on the Tracker… I wasn’t ready to handle something like that. I was outmatched, plain and simple. And when they took me away…”

He looked up at her. “How do you prepare for something like that?”

Brianna shook her head. “I don’t think you can, Cin. You just try and rebuild when it’s over.”

She held his gaze, growing very serious. “How did they keep this under control before? At the medcenter?”

“After I started fighting…” he shook his head. “They would sedate me. Just enough to keep me unconscious through the night. And Alix…”

He felt Brianna tense and he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t talk about her. Not after I raised such a fuss about Snake.”

“No,” Brianna said. “No, I’m fine. Go on. What did Vachiira do?”

He shook his head. “She… she would sit in the chair next to the bed all night and keep watch on my IV drip, to make sure it didn’t happen again. Kind of like you camping out on the couch.”

“I’m starting to like this girl a little more,” she said. “Glad to see she kept an eye on my best friend.”

“Best friend…” he echoed. “I’m sorry, but that sounds weird.”

She laughed. “Yeah. Yeah it does.”

He shifted back, folding his arms tight around his chest. “What should I do? About this? I can’t sedate myself every night.”

“Have you been meditating? I remember that helping in the past.”

He nodded. “An hour every day. Two if I have the time.”

“What about medications? Do you think they might have anything for this kind of problem?”

“I’m not sure how qualified the city medcenter is for treating Kiffar psychopathic disorders.”

“Cin, you aren’t crazy,” she insisted. “You’ve never been crazy. And I’ll fight anyone who tries to say otherwise. Okay?”

When he nodded silently, she squeezed his shoulder and said, “Can I get you anything? Some _tihaar_ to settle your nerves, maybe?”

He shook his head. “No… no, I think I’m fine. Thanks, Brianna. For… for everything.”

She smiled, then leaned forward and gently kissed his forehead. “My pleasure, _Cin’ika_. Now try and get some rest. I’ll be just outside, and I’ll wake you up if you have any more nightmares.”

She got up and stepped through the door, letting it close quietly behind her. He stared after her for a long time, staring at the darkened doorway for a long time. Then he settled back and folded his hands over his stomach, staring at the ceiling.

He stayed that way the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Vhetin has never been one of those amnesiacs that slowly begins to remember his past (Jason Bourne or Wolverine come to mind) but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t struggle with remnant memories. His increasingly disturbing flashback nightmares will be a major part of his story for the foreseeable future.


	30. Off Duty: Introductions

_ **Oyu’baat ** _ **T****apcaf**

“And he flipped the speeder? Just smashed into the side of it?”

Jay nodded. “It wasn’t the most fun I’ve had working with D.”

Her companion, a Mandalorian woman by the name of Wad’e Rangir, shook her head as she sat back in her seat. A serving droid buzzed over to take their leftover dishes from lunch, then swiftly retreated back toward the kitchens. “And you’re sure he’s all right? The cyborg? He could still be getting signals from Caranthyr. Tech is sneaky that way.”

Jay shook her head. “He’s good. He’s had his cannon powered down for a good month, just in case. He’s anxious to get back to bounty hunting, but he wants to make up for what he did.”

“I’ve seen the local news reports,” Wad’e said. “He makes a good cam show, helping construction crews rebuild, hoisting up half-ton support girders like they were armfuls of firewood. Impressive, but that doesn’t make him trustworthy.”

Jay shrugged. “Caranthyr’s in the wind. He hasn’t been seen for going on two months. I think it’s safe to assume his little coup is officially over. I don’t think D’harhan is a risk anymore.”

“For all our sakes, I hope you’re right,” Wad’e said. “If your big guy goes on the fritz again, I’m not sure we have enough firepower to take him down. I don’t think anything short of an orbital shot from the _Hodayc_ will stop him.”

“I don’t think the Protectors are going to loan out their flagship to bombard their own home.”

Rangir shrugged. “It’s not out of the question. Protectors are authorized to do whatever is necessary to bring their targets down, whether it’s on alien worlds or home turf.”

Jay shuddered at the thought. “Don’t give me that image. Keldabe’s supposed to be a peaceful place, remember? Caranthyr’s bombings tore this city apart enough already.”

“All right. Just don’t be surprised when your big reptilian friend starts acting all twitchy again.” Wad’e glanced to the door and heaved a sigh. “I think it’s time I was going. It was good seeing you again, Jay. Take care of yourself.”

“You too, Wad’e,” Jay replied. “I’ll see you later.”

The woman stood from her seat and retrieved her bucket from the floor next to their table. She secured it back over her head and nodded respectfully before she turned and left the tapcaf. Jay remained in her seat, staring out the window at the city outside. Things had returned to normal surprisingly quickly after the bombings. It wasn’t even a Market Day and there were still people crowding the plaza outside.

Under normal circumstances, the sight would be an inspiring one. Mandalorians all across the city had banded together, volunteering their time and money to help rebuild what Caranthyr and his neo-Death Watch soldiers had destroyed. It had taken time, but the damage was slowly beginning to fade from Keldabe’s streets. The repairs were patchwork and shoddy, but they blended in with the city’s natural look almost perfectly.

She smiled and shook her head slightly. The camaraderie that the Mandalorians showed in healing their wounded city was inspiring, even to an _aruetii_ like her. If only more people acted in such a way, working together to rebuild.

She had to remind herself that while their current behavior was admirable, the Mandalorians had also given rise to Caranthyr and his men. Despite Shysa’s claims to the contrary, the Death Watch _were _Mandalorians. The fact they wore different armor and fought for different reasons wasn’t enough. They had the same upbringing, the same training, and the same methods. The Death Watch were Mandalorians with their sights turned against their own kind, rather than outward against _aruetiise_.

Maybe that was why most normal Mandos hated them so much.

Someone cleared their throat next to her table and she looked over to find the bartender, Aramis, waiting intently. He raised an eyebrow and growled, “Gonna pay for lunch? Or is it going on the tab?”

“I didn’t know you gave credit to _aruetiise_,” she said with a smile.

He snorted. “_Aruetiise?_ No. Not a chance. But you’re not _aruetii_, Moqena. Not anymore. You’re _mandokarla_. Wouldn’t be sporting the _Jaig_ eyes otherwise.”

She shook her head. “I’m not wearing the _Jaig_, Aramis. Not until Shysa presents them to me.”

“Are you kidding? He said you deserve ‘em, so you got ‘em. Don’t need Shysa to hand ‘em to you to make it official.”

Jay sighed. “I guess.”

“Every recipient gets their own design, you know. Unless you’re boring and just opt for the traditional swoops. You might end up liking them.”

She nodded. “I’ve seen the designs. I like them, I really do. They’re like… two birds swooping in for the kill.”

“And that kind of thing revs your engine, then?”

She laughed. “My call sign back during my days as a pilot was _Phoenix_. So yeah. That revs my engine.”

“Poetic justice, I guess,” Aramis said with a shrug. “It suits you, Moqena.”

“Thank you, but… I don’t know. It seems like too big an honor for what I did.”

“What you did was save our _leader_. And you think a pair of swoops to put on your coat is too much?”

“No, but…” She shook her head. “I know how important this is to your people, Aramis. And it’s just…”

“Scary,” he supplied. “Havin’ all the big armored bounty hunters respecting you is scary. You’re not used to it.”

She sighed and stared out the window again. “I guess not…”

Eventually, he cleared his throat. “So are you gonna pay? Or put it on the tab?”

“Oh right.” She reached into her jacket pocket and produced a small collection of credit chips. She tossed them to the old bartender, who tipped his head to her in thanks.

“It’s good to have you back in town, Moqena. After what happened up at MandalMotors, I’m sure I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

Before he could turn and leave, she called him back. “Aramis… after the bombings, the news was crawling with reports about Caranthyr and the assassination attempt. What did they say about me?”

“On the rare occasions when you actually made it onto the news,” Aramis said, “they said nothing but polite things, I promise. Keldabe’s impressed with you, Moqena. They didn’t expect an _aruetii_ to fight so hard to defend the Mandalore. As far as their concerned, you’re the only reason we still _have_ a Mandalore.”

“But it wasn’t just me,” she insisted. “What did they say about the others? Cin, for example?”

“Stripes?” Aramis shrugged. “Nothing.”

“_Nothing_? But he and Brianna saved those people…”

“Brianna’s an _aruetii_ who was doing a job. A job she was paid handsomely for, I might add. And Vhetin single-handedly botched up the counteroffensive in the sewers,” Aramis said. “He saved a lot of people. But he also got a lot of people killed. Mandos don’t look kindly on that.”

“So they don’t so much as give them a pat on the back?”

“Vhetin was publicly congratulated for his service in rescuing those hostages.”

“You know what I mean,” Jay said. “It’s almost like everyone thinks he did something wrong during the operation. Like he failed.”

Aramis sighed. “Stripes isn’t the same as he was before he was snatched up by the Imps. And the Mandos in Keldabe know it now.”

She scoffed. “He’s still the same guy.”

“Not to the people around here. Look at it from their perspective; he shows up again after three months during which everyone thinks he’s dead. He’s got some kind of mysterious disease that’s can kill people if he’s not careful. He’s hanging out with cyborgs and Echani and other unsavory company, half of which end up working for Caranthyr – whether they wanted to or not – while that asshole is bombing the city left and right. Then the mission he’s in charge of ends up killing a score of good souls and to top it all off, Caranthyr vanishes into the wind.”

“And they hold that against him?”

He grimaced. “That’s what happens when you choose to live in a society of bounty hunters, then lose a target. He’s got a lot of ground to recover before his _vode_ see him in the same light they used to.”

“And how do they see him now? His _vode_?”

Aramis grimaced. “He’s… washed up. Weak. Playing at being a hero when he’s not. They don’t trust him anymore, if they ever did. And the shootout in the sewers only reinforced that.”

“And what do you think?” Jay said, her face drawing down in a scowl. “Do you think he’s dangerous? Weak?”

“I know Stripes. He’s a good man. If he even _is_ a man under all that armor. He lives for this city and I know he’ll do whatever it takes to keep it safe. There are a lot of Mandos around here who can claim the same, and to me that makes Vhetin… I dunno, just one of the boys.”

He sighed, narrowing his eyes. “But… I think he’s pushing himself too far. Trying to be something he’s not. And it seems to be getting himself and a lot of other people hurt in the process. So, is he weak? No. Is he dangerous?”

The grizzled bartender tipped his head. “That one’s harder to answer.”

He hesitated, then turned away. “Thanks for the chips. Stay safe out there, Moqena.”

“I plan to.” She sighed and rested her arms on the tabletop, watching him head back to the bar. Then continued staring out the window, ruminating over what he had said.

So, Vhetin’s fellows were slowly turning against him. Not surprising, considering recent events, but she couldn’t pretend it wasn’t upsetting. After his accident, he’d devoted everything he had to serving the Mandalorians. He wouldn’t be happy to see that devotion thrown back in his face. He had tried his best, even in the sewers. He couldn’t have known Caranthyr would have used suicide bombers, couldn’t have known so many people would lose their lives.

_There are going to be situations_, he used to tell her during training, _where things happen that you don’t see coming. You can’t anticipate these situations, can’t plan or expect what’s going to happen. All you can do is react as quickly as possible and try to minimize the damage._

And Vhetin had done just that. He’d reacted as quickly as he could, pulling back the majority of the troops under his command and holding the rally point for as long as he could. He had minimized the damage as best he could, and saved several lives in the process. Caranthyr had killed those men, not Vhetin.

But had it all been enough? Apparently not to his fellow Mandalorians. She had always known they were strict, but she had no idea just how severe their ideas of _serving Mandalore_ truly were. Vhetin wasn’t the kind to care about public laurels or awards, but was a simple acknowledgement of his sacrifices too much to ask?

She heard footsteps approaching her table and smiled a little. “Did I short you some change, Aramis?”

“Don’t ask me,” came a gravelly woman’s voice. Definitely _not_ Aramis. “But if you’re handing out credits, feel free to pass them over.”

Jay turned to find an athletically-built, middle-aged woman sliding into the seat across from her. She was wearing traditional Mandalorian armor colored orange with yellow highlights and patterns across the smooth armor plating. She had dark brown hair shot through with strands of steel grey, pulled back in a tight braid. Her chiseled square face was lined with equal parts wrinkles and scars.

Jay frowned. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“I don’t think so,” the woman replied with a friendly smile. “But I know you.”

Jay narrowed her eyes. “Do you now?”

“Oh, don’t be so suspicious. I just meant that I saw you on the news. You’re the _aruetii _who helped out the enforcement office hunting down that bastard Caranthyr.”

“Yeah… yeah, that was me.”

The woman smiled wider and reached across the table, holding out her hand. “Then I wanna shake your hand, miss. The name’s Isabet Reau.”

“Jay Moqena. Pleased to meet you.” She shook the woman’s hand, then sat back and folded her arms. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I just want to get to know this up-and-coming hero. Not many of those around here.”

“Evidently,” Jay said. “I hear you Mandos don’t even have a word for hero.”

Isabet Reau chuckled and sat back, folding her hands in her lap and cocking her head to one side. “You got that right. But it’s not every day an _aruetii_ stands out in such a fantastic manner.”

She frowned curiously. “So why did you do it? Why did you fight so hard to defend Shysa?”

Jay shrugged and shook her head. “It wasn’t really a conscious choice. When people are shooting at you, you tend to stick with the familiar guy with the gun rather than the stranger with one.”

“_Oya_ to that. But… but why Shysa? Word from the _vode_ who were there says you stuck to him like glue. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Jay said honestly. “He’s important. And Caranthyr wanted him dead. Seemed like the smart thing to do was to stop Caranthyr from getting what he wanted.”

“So no politics involved? No desire for personal glory?”

She shook her head. “Not really my thing. I just wanted to stop the bad guy and save the day. Simple, really.”

“Nothing could be further from _simple_,” the other woman said, a hint of steel in her voice. “When you threw yourself in with Shysa, Miss Moqena, you threw yourself into a school of sharks. Keldabe may seem like nothing but shits and giggles on a normal day, but it’s far more dangerous than you seem to understand.”

Jay frowned. “What do you mean?”

Reau laughed. “Did you know that the last ten _Mand’alor’e_ we’ve had have all refused the job when it was first offered to them? Shysa even tried installing puppet Mandalores before he finally caved and took the job himself. It’s been described as the single worst job a Mandalorian could accept.”

The woman tapped a finger against the tabletop. “The position of Mandalore is not a position of power. You don’t command legions or vaults of riches. The best he can do is suggest actions to the Council of Clans and hope _they _decide what to do. _That_ is the most power he commands.

“The position of _Mand’alor_ is a very important job,” Reau continued. “But it’s one that commands less power – and far less respect – than any _aruetii_ can imagine. Shysa’s contribution to this city is a _very_ simple one: he’s a scapegoat_. _Nothing more.”

Jay frowned. “So why did he even accept?”

“Because the Mandalorians need scapegoats. We have warriors, tacticians, builders, bounty hunters, and all the rest. But too many like-minded warriors in one place get themselves into trouble. And when that happens, they need a single figure to rally behind, to lay all the blame upon, so they can feel better and continue doing what they do best.”

“I don’t understand.”

The woman narrowed her eyes. “Mandalore the Ultimate was a renowned warrior, and arguably the most famous leader we’ve had to date. But you really think his plans for galactic domination were his alone? No. _His people_ wanted to expand. _His people_ wanted to conquer. But _his people_ couldn’t find the strength to organize themselves, so they needed someone to do it for them, someone to be the boogeyman to the outside world that they could never be. And as soon as that happened, all the reports were suddenly saying _Mandalore the Ultimate_ is conquering worlds. _Mandalore the Ultimate_ is slaughtering innocents.”

She smiled. “And the soldiers? They. Just. Keep. Working. Away. Why question the morals of what you’re doing when it’s all your leader’s idea? Why take responsibility for yourself when you’ve got someone in power who takes it all for you? Or at least that’s what they tell themselves. Like dumb banthas in a herd, choosing to run off the side of a cliff then blaming the biggest one for taking the first jump.”

She leaned back. “That’s Shysa’s position. To take the blame when Mandalorians get a little too trigger-happy offworld. To take responsibility when we’re forced to make unfair treaties and alliances with an Empire that wants to grind us under its heel. So you can understand why I’m finding it a little hard to understand why you were fighting to protect the Grand Scapegoat. Even if your reasoning is, _just ‘cause._”

“I… I didn’t know,” Jay said with a frown. “I thought Shysa was… I don’t know, more important than that.”

“Oh, he and his lackeys will probably spin a different story,” Reau said. “But I’ve lived here for a very long time. I’ve seen three different _Mand’alor’e_ in my time here and I know how things work.

“As a scapegoat,” she said, “Shysa is a target for every thug with a gun who has a score to settle against the people at large. Removing him does no damage to the Mandalorians and their ways, but sends a clear message that they’re unhappy with the way things are. That’s what Caranthyr was planning. A political assassination without any of the blowback. Simple. Easy.”

Jay listened intently, narrowing her eyes as Reau continued, “Caranthyr was just that kind of thug. And you stood in his way. In that moment, you drew a line in the sand and showed everyone in Keldabe where you stand. And in doing so, you made yourself a target for all the rest of the thugs out there who think the way Caranthyr did.”

She pointed a finger at Jay’s face, aiming it right at between her eyes. “Now they’ll all be sighting in on that pretty little head of yours, just waiting to make an example of you. So when I said you were swimming with sharks, I meant it.”

Jay frowned. “That sounds like a threat.”

“Call it an observation,” Reau replied. “I don’t need to threaten someone who’s already in danger.”

The bell over the _Oyu’baat_’s door rang and Reau glanced over her shoulder. Jay likewise looked to find the newcomer and saw Janada Bralor, dressed in her oilstained MandalMotors coveralls, stepping through the door. Jay waved at her and the engineer started making her way to their table. When her eyes fell on Reau, however, her eyes widened and her face drained of all color.

She approached their table slowly, hands clenched into fists. “Jay. Nice to see you.”

She looked over at the yellow-armored woman with a swiftly-growing scowl. “It’s so nice of you to slum it out with the rest of us normal folk, Clanmaster Reau. Or is it Vizsla? I can never remember.”

“_Clanmaster_?” Jay echoed. She stared at the older woman. “You’re the head of a clan?”

“The Reau-Vizsla,” the woman said. “Yes. Does that surprise you? We’re allowed to walk the streets on our own like everyone else, you know.”

“I just-“

“I think you should leave,” Janada interrupted. “Now.”

“But I was having such a nice conversation with Miss Moqena here. I think I’ll stay.”

“_No_. You’ll leave. Now.”

“Janada-“

The woman raised a single finger in warning. “All due respect, Jay, but shut up.”

She bent over, putting herself almost nose-to-nose with Reau. “You are going to stand up and walk out of this bar. Right now.”

Reau smirked, but slowly stood from her chair, never once breaking eye contact with the shorter woman. “And if I don’t? If I decide to stay right here and keep talking with my friend, what are you going to do, _Umaan_?”

“That’s not my name any more,” Janada snarled, still only inches away from Reau. “And she is _not_ your friend. Get out. _Now_!”

The shout drew gazes from all over the tapcaf, and all the gentle conversation grew suddenly silent. Jay could hear shifting armor plating and clinking mugs as people shifted to watch what was going on. She glanced between the two women, hands unknowingly clenched into fists in her lap.

Reau smiled wider and cocked her head. “You think you’re some big-shot, Janada? Someone important? You’re not. You’re a whiny little bitch who covers up her childish tears by pretending to be strong. You hide behind your loyalty to your people, hoping that if it comes to it they’ll take a blaster bolt for you. Just like your parents did.”

Janada moved before Jay could stop her. In an instant her fist flashed up and there was a sickening _crack_ that sent Reau’s head reeling. There were a few muffled gasps from around the tapcaf, but no one moved to intervene, all eyes fixed on Reau and her reaction to the punch.

When the older woman straightened, blood was pouring from her nose. But instead of striking back, she just wiped the blood away and stared down at it. Then she let out a short chuckle and looked back up.

“Little Jan Umaan,” she laughed. “Whipping out your fists whenever things don’t go your way.”

She leaned close and hissed, “Do us all a favor? _Grow up_.”

Janada narrowed her eyes, but slowly stepped away. “Get out, Reau.”

Reau bowed her head with another smug smile, her heavy bootsteps echoing through the entire cantina as she stepped past the shorter woman. “I’ll give my regards to your aunt the next time I see her. You can be sure Rav will hear of this.”

“Make sure you don’t leave out the part where I broke your fucking nose!” Janada called after the woman as she stepped through the front door. The silence in the tapcaf was momentarily shattered as the door slammed shut behind her, shaking the bell over the doorframe.

After Reau disappeared outside, the gentle murmur of conversation slowly returned. People turned back to their food and drinks and Aramis returned to washing dishes. Janada, meanwhile, whirled back to Jay and hissed, “What the _hell _are you playing at?”

“What are you talking about?”

“_What are you talking about?”_ Janada scornfully echoed. She threw herself into the chair Reau had just deserted and slammed her fist against the table. “Do you have any _idea_ who that bitch was? What she _represents_?”

“I have no idea,” Jay said with a frown. “I’m guessing something bad.”

“The _worst_. That’s Isabet Reau, clanmaster of the Reau-Vizsla. The _Vizsla_, Jay. Does that mean _anything _to you?”

“The name sounds familiar, but I don’t-“

“Forty years ago,” Janada snapped, “a renegade Mandalorian clanmaster defies the control of _Mand’alor_ Jaster Mereel. He gathers all his like-minded followers and raises an army to wipe the galaxy clean of Mereel’s followers. The Mandalorian Civil War. One of the bloodiest conflicts our people have ever seen. And you wanna know the name of that clanmaster? _Tor Vizsla_. You wanna know who he led? The _kriffing Kyr’tsad_.”

“The Death Watch?” Jay said, instinctively lowering her voice. She knew how sensitive Mandalorians were on the subject.

“Exactly,” Janada hissed. “The woman you were having a nice chat with? His granddaughter-in-law. And she’s heir to the family business.”

“You can’t know that.”

“No,” Janada said. “But I don’t give a damn. She’s a kriffing Vizsla. And that means someday, I’m going to put a blaster bolt between her eyes.”

“Why?” Jay said.

“Never mind _why_. Just-“

“No,” Jay interrupted. “If you’re reacting like this, I think I deserve to know. Why do you hate them so much? What did they ever do to you?”

“I don’t like… I haven’t…”

Janada fell silent, staring at the tabletop. After a few moments she murmured, “You heard her call me Umaan? That was my original name. Bralor was just something I picked up when I was adopted into the new clan. _Janada Naya Umaan_. My family was based out of Sriluur, a planet far away from here.”

She sighed. “But when the Clone Wars broke out, my clan got the call. Organize, arm yourselves, and head off to fight for the Confederacy of Independent Systems.”

“The Separatists? Your family fought for the Separatists?”

“The CIS was an army,” Janada murmured. “One of many. We Mandos were all over the Clone Wars. The Umaans fought for the Confederacy, the Skiratas fought for the Republic, the Bralors couldn’t make up their damn minds, and the Shysas sat here on Mandalore twiddling their thumbs.”

She shook her head. “My clan left Sriluur to go fight the battles the CIS couldn’t handle with their army of tin men. And my parents… they left me, with my baby sister. Can’t have kids running around a military operation, right?”

“Janada, that’s awful.”

“That’s Mandalorian parenting. I was ten years old.”

“_Ten_?”

“I’d been training under Mandalorian custom since I was four,” Janada said. “I could already fight better than most adults. I understood why my parents had to leave. I could handle it. I was proud that they thought I was responsible enough to take care of us myself. And my sister needed me.”

“But-“

“My parents loved us,” Janada said. “And it was only because they loved us that they left us. They couldn’t take us to war with them and they didn’t trust any of the native Weequay to place nice with their kids. So they left me in charge. Better to have a Mandalorian – even a young one – in charge of the family holdings.”

“So… how do the Vizsla factor into this?”

Janada clenched her hands together on the tabletop. “A few months into the Clone Wars, my parents – my Clan – were deployed on Mimban. Entrenched Republic troops, native resistance, all stuck in the middle of a boggy jungle... It was a nightmare, from what I’ve been able to gather. And after months of fighting, the CIS didn’t think the Umaans could get the job done. So they hired the Vizsla to support them. And…”

She shook her head. “Apparently the Vizsla were underwhelmed with the way my clan had dealt with the Mimban battle. They wanted to be in control. So they led my clan into an ambush. They were surrounded by clone troops, pinned down by enemy fire. And the Vizsla left them there.”

She snapped her fingers. “My entire clan. Gone. The clone troopers were… efficient. And the Vizsla used the distraction to rip out the Republic troops and send them running with their tails between their legs. A _calculated sacrifice_, they called it_._ Like my family was a piece on a _kriffing_ dejarik board.”

She reached up and undid the top two buttons of her MandalMotors uniform, pulling a thin chain necklace from under her collar. Dangling from the end were two thin rectangles of with red, blinking lights. She held them out to Jay, shaking them for emphasis. “You know what these are?”

Jay swallowed nervously, then nodded. “Armor tabs. Mandalorians keep them to… to remember fallen comrades.”

“Or family. They were all that I got back from my parents after they were killed.”

She gestured over her shoulder, to the door Reau had just left through. “That woman, and members of her clan, _murdered_ my family. And they never even got a stern word because of it. Because it was a _calculated sacrifice_. The Umaans were just soldiers, doing their jobs.”

She shook her head, tucking her necklace out of sight again. “Mandalorians aren’t just soldiers. The Umaans weren’t _just soldiers_. They were fathers and mothers and brothers and sisters. Farmers and artists and… and…”

She sighed and glared up at Jay. “That woman is _dangerous_, Jay. Her and all her kin. So you stay away from her or I’m sure you’ll end up just like my family. And… and I don’t want to see that happen.”

Jay nodded. “Okay. Okay, I won’t talk to her again. It wasn’t like I was all that interested in talking to her in the first place. I didn’t even know who she was until you came in.”

“Well now you know. So stay away from her.”

“I will.”

“Good.” Janada heaved a sigh of relief. She flattened her hands against the tabletop and took a long, deep breath. Then she cursed and said, “After all that, I need a kriffing drink.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Aramis! Get me a mug of your worst stuff. Something that burns on the way down.”

The old barkeep chuckled. “After you clocked Reau like that? Hell, I’ll get you two.”


End file.
